


Everything will be Alright

by ShusalixSmiles



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Reader-Insert, Smut, a bit of action and general fluffy interaction between you and ex-overwatch members, here i go writing shitty fanfiction again, pinch of dismembering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:30:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7309549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShusalixSmiles/pseuds/ShusalixSmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Losing a leg due to a botched mission is pretty bad, but losing a leg because you also did not listen to 76's orders is by far the most terrifying thing. Angela works her magic as usual, Hana pretends not to care but cares a lot, Lucio is being a cool dude like always, Lena puts a smile on your face, McCree cranks up the cowboy charm and Reinhardt is way too big for a hospital room. 76 finally shows up and does his old man thing, but it's not the brutal tongue lashing you were expecting. Not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huehuehuehue I hate Overwatch I've literally spent almost 100 hours playing and having feelings about these well-developed characters fuck your ass blizzard. Anyway I wrote a fic because soldier is angsty and cool af and that's the shit I revel in and writing friendly fun interactions with OW characters is so fricking fun ᕕ( ՞ ᗜ ՞ )ᕗ   
> I wanted this to be sorta angsty and feelsy but also cheerful and have lots of group interaction, so I wrote up a bit of plotline - though I don't know where I'm going with this - since this might be a series of every day incidences/activities/interactions with the characters in life of OW. There's a bit of swearing, sorry if you're uncomfortable with that!   
> Tbh I don't even know where I'm going with the relationship for 76 (like is it a mentor figure, or romantic, or just close and familial), but I'm open to suggestions or preferences since this is a reader fic! I tried to keep it an immersive experience, so I didn't really add in any name lines or overly descriptive features - use your imagination~ o3o  
> I hope you enjoy sorry I'm a bad writer ;-;

White ceilings, harsh white lights, blurry white figures…at least hospitals didn’t smell as weird as they used to, with advances in medicine and machinery. Not that you’re really focusing on these things, because there’s an awful lot of yelling and screaming going on around you. You feel cold, but you can’t seem to form words to ask for a blanket, and it’s getting a little hard to breathe, but you feel like it might be a bit rude to interrupt their excited chatter.

“…bleeding out badly…”

“…was…who saw…wasn’t supposed to be there...!”

You can hear Angela, her soothing voice somewhat tense and systematically giving out orders. Hana is talking way too fast, so fast she sounds like she’s crying and her sentences bubble into Korean, as she always does when her emotions are running high.

“…Hey! …Hear me?...Awake? Are you awake?” Angela is shining a light into your eyes. Jesus, this is worse than a wake-up call. You weakly raise a hand to push her away, and your eyes finally catch something that isn’t white. Huh. There’s blood on your hand.

And that’s what rushes you back into reality, and suddenly everything’s a thousand times louder, and there’s an _intense,_ _screaming_ , _burning_ pain in your left leg. Someone is groaning, and you want to tell them to shut up so you can ask for some painkillers or anything, when you realise you’re the one making the noises. You try to move your leg and agony shoots through your thigh. You try to pull yourself up to see what the _hell_ is wrong with it and you’re gently pressed back down.

But you saw it. You try to breathe, try to calm down and try not to think about it but it isn’t there, half of it is gone. God, how did you end up here? Dust…a bright explosion…

* * *

 

“Wasn’t this a simple escort mission?!” You exclaim to Hana, coughing to clear your lungs of the dust filling up the tunnel. Cars were scattered across the road, and thankfully the bomb – at least that’s what you think happened, you were on your motorcycle a bit behind the car when it exploded– had only blown you back, your reflexes had kicked in and you had at least landed safely on your side. Hana had been in her mech and was safely at your side, and 76 was supposed to meet on the other side. It was a short tunnel, but it was the most important and last leg of the journey. You wonder where he is, but you jump up as you hear footsteps scuffling towards you.   
“You two! Get down!” 76 suddenly jumps over the hood of the black car, covered in debris, and you instinctively follow his orders. Hana sets up her shield and scans the area. As much as they liked to poke fun at his seriousness, when 76 gave orders on the battlefield, you listened. Fear an old man in a profession where men die young, etc. Gunfire rang out above their heads, denting the cars beside them. There were screams of the innocent bystanders in their cars, and your heart clenches in panic.

“It was an ambush. Deadlock want what’s in the case, and we can’t let them have it,” he said grimly, reloading his gun and gesturing to the car they hid behind.

“I thought McCree said he’d handle distraction?” You check your communication devices for any messages, but it’s blank. “Or, in his words, ‘I’ll keep em’ occupied, you just worry ‘bout yer own tussle, sweetheart.’” Your faux cowboy impression and finger guns gets a giggle from Hana, who immediately covers her mouth when 76 turns.

“He was most likely compromised.” He is far less amused and you look away innocently as his visor stares lasers into you. More shots ring out and you turn solemn, keeping your head low. You hope McCree is okay.

The black car was bulletproof because it held whatever important thing they were escorting, but the cars beside you were not. The tunnel rumbled, and cracks began to appear in the walls. You all flinch as a part of it comes crashing down, and with it, a smoke grenade over the car. It explodes immediately and you cover your face with your arms, coughing through the haze, reaching for your weapon in case they came. You hear shattering glass and rough Texan accents, the sound of scuffling shoes and yelling. Someone grabs your arm and without a second hesitation you whack your weapon into their hand, using their cry of pain to guide your punch into their face. A second hit against their temple drops them, and you shake your fist, grimacing at the cuts on your knuckles where you had unfortunately met their teeth. You squint, but your senses are completely clouded.  When the smoke finally clears, 76 is swearing under his breath, 2 gang members lying at the floor near his feet and his hand gripping the collar of one more man slumped on the floor. You raise an eyebrow.

“They got the package somehow, they must’ve planned this.” He turns in the direction motorcycle screeches are coming from, and catches sight of your bike. The walls crack further, and you all look up, knowing it’s not going to hold.

“Both of you, escort the civilians out, and wait outside safe parameters until you receive my next orders! Do not endanger yourselves if the tunnel begins to collapse!”

“But - !” You start to object, but 76’s head whips around so fast from on your bike you think he probably got whiplash. You know he’s giving you _the look_ from behind his red visor.

“Go, now!” he does nothing short of growl the last word, and you jump into action. You and Hana desperately run around the tunnel, most people are already running for the exit, and you silently thank your lucky stars that it’s a short tunnel. Hana scoots the cars out of the way with ease in her mech, and carries injured civilians quickly out of the tunnel with her boosters. You help people stay calm, running door to door to make sure there’s no one left behind. Maybe they weren’t officially ‘Overwatch’ right now, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to do your job. It wasn’t the whole reason, but it certainly helped. You finish up final checks, flinching every time there’s grumble in the concrete, or debris clatters down from the walls.

Hana is out already, and you jog out after her. When you reach the outdoors, you sigh in relief and breathe in the fresh air. The dry, warm air was refreshing in comparison with the air inside the musty tunnel. As you approach the safety barriers, you hear something that makes your blood run cold. A quiet, pained, call for help. You instantly turn around, and it doesn’t take you long to spot her. She’s about your age, pinned against the wall of the tunnel by the car. You run back immediately, your balance knocked askew suddenly as the tunnel makes a giant groan…and begins to collapse inwards. You think of 76’s orders, and you _pray_ to the gods that you die here so you won’t have to deal with his anger when he finds out you’ve disobeyed him.

“Oh, _come on_! This is _not_ a movie!” You groan as you sprint back and assess the trapped girl. Her brown eyes are terrified, and there’s blood on her forehead. You smile – albeit a panicked one – and reassure her. You hear Hana calling your name in the distance and only just dodge a falling rock. You somehow manage to wedge your weapon into the gap, and heave with all your strength. The metal is weakened by the weight of the rocks, and you somehow manage to shift it enough so that she can move. You drag her out and push her towards safety. She stumbles but she doesn’t look too injured, she’s crying and almost laughing with relief, but her eyes widen when she looks at you. The exhausted smile drops off your face, and you turn back. Your foot gets caught as the foundations of the tunnel collapse, and you swear a string of words so filthy that Angela would probably make you eat soap for a week if she heard.

As you yell at the girl to run, you can see Hana sprinting back with her mech, and you struggle with all your strength to pull yourself free. Sweat drips down your forehead, and you turn back in time to see the car crumple under the weight of the falling rocks, into your leg. You scream, because holy _fuck_ it hurt so bad. The metal crushes into your thigh and your world turns red as dust and debris come crashing down around you.

Your final thought before dark, is not how mad you are that this was how you were going to die, but how 76 was going to be so disappointed in you.

* * *

 

Hana swearing loudly in Korean brings you back to reality and you chuckle – well, you try to, dry hacking comes out instead – she only taught you that one the other day. Thank god she was okay.

“Angela, I’m missing a leg,” You state hoarsely, aware that you were likely in shock right now.   
  
“Shh, we’ll patch you up, don’t you worry.” Angela runs a hand through your hair soothingly.

“Oh my god 76 is going to be so mad please don’t tell him –  he’s alive, right?” You continue to cough, and your body _aches_ something fierce with every breath. “You can’t tell him I lost a leg he’s going to kill the rest of me –”   
  
“He’s fine, you’re going to be fine, he’s doing no such thing.” Angela lists off some orders to another doctor, as they roll up to a door. She turns to Hana as you struggle to keep your agonised groans inside your chest. “It’s alright, she’ll be okay, we’ve got her – Lucio, take Hana to Fareeha please, she’ll know what to do. We’ll need you in the operating room, so come back as soon as you can, please.”

“No no, I want to stay – “

“C’mon D.va, we’re just getting in Dr. Ziegler’s way.” There’s a bit more whining, but finally there’s no more chattering and you’re in a room, you can’t tell where, probably the emergency room of one of the Overwatch watchpoints.

“An…gela?” You say through gritted teeth, and through blurry eyes you can see her head turn, even though her hands don’t stop working on the tray beside you.

“Yes? I’ve got you,” she says comfortingly, briefly resting a hand on your arm. She continues giving orders to the medical trainees around her. Though her manner was soft and gentle, Angela always manages to work at the fastest speed possible.

“Don’t give me a peg leg, please?” You smile weakly.

“I’ve never had a patient bleeding out and joking at the same time on my operating table before,” Angela sighs.  Your snarky response doesn’t even make it out of your mouth before she puts you under.

* * *

 

Waking up is like trying to pull yourself up out of dense fog from inside a well. It keeps trying to bring you back down, but you drag yourself towards the white light, focusing on the beeping, and finally you blink awake. You hear Hana call for Angela, and before long your room is bright with colour as agents come pouring in.

But no 76. Fair enough, he was probably livid at you right now. It was for the better that he wasn’t here, or he’d most likely be yelling at you and ruining all the nice atmosphere. You try not to feel disappointed.

“Oh my god, took you long enough,” Hana huffs and crosses her arms, but you can see the red in her eyes.

“Yeah, I think Angela used an elephant tranquilizer or something,” You groan, sitting upright. Lucio is by your side in a second, helping you adjust the pillow. “Thanks bud,” You sigh in relief as you lie back.

“I gotcha.” He grins and gives you a thumbs up.

“How long have I been out?”

“3 days!” Hana grumbled, and you give her a look. You keep staring at her and slowly open your arms. She pouts, and in a second is launching herself into your chest, giving you a tight squeeze.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” She mumbles into your neck, making sure she says it a final time before pulling back and crossing her arms again, pout still on her face. You don’t have time to chastise her or poke fun before an orange flash is suddenly by your side.

“You’re really awake, I got here as soon as I heard!” Lena has a big smile on her face, her eyes sparkling, and you give her a small salute. She throws her arms around you and when she pulls back, looks you up and down. “How’re you feeling, love?”

“Like I got crushed by a ton of rocks and lost a leg,” You scoff, but give her a smile. “But otherwise, better.”

“Alright, alright, let me check on her first, then you can all say your well wishes.” Angela squeezes her way through the crowd with a smile, and though she’s glowing as usual, there are circles under her eyes. She does the routine health check, and you finally see your leg when she checks the bandages at your thigh. That’s where your leg ends. There’s no knee, no nothing until almost your hip. You inhale sharply, and you can tell the other agents are holding their breaths at your reaction.

“Well, damn,” You whisper, the reality of the situation hitting you for the first time since you were in your right mind.

“There are plenty of mechanical prosthetics that work just as well as real limbs, and we can get you the best,” Angela says gently. You blink a few times and finally let out a big sigh.

“Aw guys, quit with the long faces.” A shit eating grin covers your face and you stifle a giggle. “Now I’m ‘all right’!”

There are a few groans and Angela tilts her head as she translates it in her head. Lucio actually throws his hands up. Reinhardt (or as you jokingly call him: Grandpappy Wilhelm) chimes in uproariously, “You’ll be back on your feet in no time!”

You’re not sure if he’s making a joke or not, but you can’t help the grin on your face after he ruffles your hair. He probably would’ve thrown his head back and laughed, but he might have taken a ceiling light fixture out. You know he’d rather pick you up and give you a big hug, but Angela would probably pop a blood vessel.

“Well, ain’t you just a ray of sunshine.” You see McCree’s head appear above Lena’s, and he tips his hat in greeting. God, he never really went anywhere without it.

“Well, ain’t you a bit late?” You tip a pretend hat on your head as Lena blinks to the other side of the bed. It had been so long that while you no longer jumped every time she did that, you still weren’t used to her little teleports.

“Well, I had a bit of fixin’ of my own to do.” He gestures, and now that Lena had moved, you could now see his arm – the non-mechanical one – sitting in a sling. You raise an eyebrow and whistle.

“How’d you do that?”   
  
“I won’t bore y’all with the details, but let’s just say I ran into a bit of a…’predicament’ with the gang.” McCree looks mildly annoyed, but his smooth smile comes back in an instant. “They thought breakin’ my shootin’ arm meant I’d stay down.”

Your expression must have given away your worry, because McCree suddenly pinches your nose and produces a small desert sunflower out of nowhere to place in your hand when you try swat him away. You try to glare at him, but your amused smile gives you away. His ridiculously fast fingers meant he always had a trick in his pocket. Say what you want about McCree, but if there was something that everyone agreed on, it was that he could charm the pants off anyone on this planet, man, woman, or omnic. He even managed to snag the most serious new recruit you had ever seen. Everyone pretended not to know, but it was no secret – starts with a H, ends with an O and rhymes with ‘yarnzo’.

“Doc says I’ll be back to puttin’ bad guys in the ground in no time.” McCree takes his hat off and puts it on your head. “I reckon you might need this more than me right now. It’s good luck.”

“Great lot of luck it brought you,” You snort, looking at his broken arm.

“You watch your mouth now,” McCree warns and you raise your hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright, thanks for the magic cowboy hat.” You know how much it means to him, and it warmed you inside to know he trusted you with it, or would even offer it to you for a period of time. “I’ll keep it safe.”

You talk cheerfully with the rest of the agents, playing cards with Lucio and Hana when the rest get called in to work and eventually have to return to their duties. McCree stays behind to join the games, but gets chased out by an angry Hana when he keeps winning. He was cheating (how do you think he got those fast fingers?), of course, but you think you’ll let Hana and Lucio stay in the dark for now. It was kinda funny to watch.

They, too, get hustled out by Angela at the end of the day, telling you to rest up. When the wound was fully healed, you could look at prosthetics and begin rehabilitation. You give her a hearty thumbs up, idly wondering if there was such a thing as a leg cannon prosthetic. That’d be cool. Angela turns the lights off before she goes, giving you a fond peck on the cheek goodnight.

* * *

 

Your breathing is loud in the empty room, and you sigh quietly. At least you’re next to the window, so you can look out at the quiet desert land. The watchpoint is bright, but not so much in the hospital ward, so you can see somewhat see the stars. They’re beautiful, and they feel so melancholic that underneath this expanse of sparkling sky you suddenly feel so small and alone. You check under the blankets again, and now without an audience, your face falls as your eyes land on your left leg – or where it used to be. You place your hand where your leg would have rested, on the soft bed sheets.

“I’m all right,” You mutter, turning your body so you sit on the edge of the bed. Your laughter sounds empty, even to yourself. You bite your lip as your chest starts to tremble, but you don’t bother stopping even when your vision gets blurry. You swallow down the lump in your throat, angrily rubbing at your eyes. Standing up is a lot harder than you thought it would be, as you’ve been lying in bed motionless for 3 days, and – oh yeah, you’re missing a leg. Your entire balance is offset, and you collapse almost immediately, your body still weak from other more minor injuries. You don’t hit the ground too hard, but when you try to get up you realise you can’t, you stubbornly rub tears from your eyes as you clutch the bed side table but you just can’t get up, you’re missing an entire fucking limb –

And you just bury your head in your hands, tucking your leg into your chest, stifling your sobs in the quiet ward. You lose track of time, and the tears just keep on coming and your chest is so tight and hot, your face feels like a mess but there’s a void in your heart that keeps on aching. You know it’s not the end of the world. It’s just a leg. But you need this, just this one night alone, where you can let it out. No one else can know that it hurt you this bad.

You give a frustrated if not congested growl, clenching your fists so tightly you felt your bones creak.  Your body convulses with each quiet sob, and your emotions are so haywire that you don’t even jump when warm arms pick you up. You almost struggle, but you’re so tired, and the arms are just so big and comforting. You bury your face in the soft clothes when you’re set down on the bed, holding on like you would float out to an endless sea if you let go. The bed creaks, and the big arms wrap themselves around you and it’s the best/worst you’ve felt since you’ve woken up. A hand rubs your back, another rested gently against the back of your head as you’re cradled into a broad chest. You cry yourself out into the jumper, and when you’re done you feel drained, but a little better. Your eyes are sore, and your face is a mess, but they’re pressing a tissue against your face and you feel like a kid but you let them clean you up. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve cried that much. You finally sit back, brushing your messy hair back, suddenly a little bit self-conscious about how you look. The silence is broken by your occasional sniffles, and you finally calm down enough to talk.

“You’re late,” Your voice is hoarse as you lightly backhand his shoulder, managing to sound huffy. “Visiting hours are over, old man. Or are you having trouble tracking the time?”

76 sighs, your insults bouncing off him after years of teasing and sits back on the chair beside the bed, and you snort at the wet mess on his work assigned jumper.

“What if you scared me? I’m missing a leg, I don’t need a heart replacement too.” You sulk, but you’re mostly angry that he caught you in such a vulnerable state. You had the most to prove in front of him, and showing him such a weak side was not something that made you happy. “We can see who needs the replacement first, my heart, or your hip.”

76 rolls his eyes at that one, giving you a look that said ‘are you done?’. He’s not wearing his visor, in fact, it’s the first time in a while that you’ve seen him out of uniform. He’s just wearing the assigned jumper that always looks sort of small around his broad shoulders. He eyes the place where you smacked him, but doesn’t comment on it. He looks tired, and the moonlight through the window turns his white hair into silver.

The scars on his face don’t look like flaws, they accentuate his mature features, and though you’ve seen posters of him in his younger ‘golden boy’ days, you prefer his current looks. Even if you joked about his age constantly, he was completely physically capable of taking down most of the ex-agents one handed. 76 had aged gracefully, and years of battle had only given him a harder edge, though you liked to see the creases soften when he thought no one was watching as he looked over the ex-Overwatch agents.

“You wouldn’t even need to be here, if you had just _listened_.” His tone tries to be harsh and abrasive, but it was obvious he wasn’t mad right now. You actually dislike the low, almost…sad lilt of his voice, as if things have changed and he had to be careful, now that you were…like this.   
  
“Well, if I’d _listened_ , that girl would also be dead. I’ll take this trade and run with it,” You bite back, wincing at your poor choice of words.   
  
“That’s because you were lucky. You could have died there.” 76 is staring with an intensity that you don’t like to admit is intimidating. “What if neither of you had got out?”

“Wow, leave it to the old man to think of worst case scenarios.” You roll your eyes, but it’s mostly so you can avoid making eye contact. “You need to take a lesson from Grandpappy.”

“Enough!” He raises his voice for the first time and his fist hits the bed side stand, making you jump.  “With the jokes. You need to take this more seriously, look at what –”

He gestures at you and his words cuts off and the hand returns to his face, rubbing it with an exasperated groan. For the first time you see pained lines across his features as he leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees as he just stares at the bed sheets. There’s a soft silence as you bite the inside of your cheek.

“You would have done the same thing,” You say softly, looking at your hands folded in front of you.

“Maybe. But you’re not me. You’re still young, you’ve got people who need you and a life ahead of you –”

“And you don’t?” You’re the one raising their voice this time as you turn to him.

“It’s not the same, and you know it.” 76 looks at you sternly, and you close your mouth, the retort dying in your throat when you meet his pale blue eyes. They were such a soft colour, yet it was so easy to get swept up in his pace. You’re reminded intensely of why this was the man who commanded Overwatch for 20 years.

“I couldn’t just… _leave_ her.” You rest a hand on the wound at your leg. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hadn’t tried, no matter what happened to me.”

“I – know,” 76 forces out, and it’s with frustration now that his fist thuds against the dresser. A sigh explodes out of him, and he leans back, shoulders slumped in defeat. “You did the right thing. But I wish you hadn’t.”

“Aww, was that a little mentor recognition? Maybe you’ve got some sweet in you left, old man,” You joke, but the smile on your face is insincere, ice water trickling into your veins as you watch him deflate. You didn’t want to see him like this. He laughs once under his breath, not a hint of humour in his voice. You open your mouth to say something else, something a little sincerer, but seeing 76 like this has your tongue in knots.

“Joke all you want, but this old man can’t handle losing any more people.” He looks up at you, really _looks_ at you. His eyebrows furrow in something that you can only describe as agony, and his head finally drops as he shakes it. “Not you.”

You blink and instinctively open your mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s not like you forget what he’s been through, but he never lets it show. Sometimes it’s easy for it slip your mind, the fact that this man fought a war to protect the innocent, and came out the other side with nothing but blistered memories and countless tombstones. All of a sudden, you feel like crying again, and your chest is clenched so tight that you can’t even breathe and all that self-pity you cried disappears, replaced with an emotion that was impossible to name.

You turn on the bed – hey, at least it was easier now that there was one less leg to think about – and place your hand against his cheek, tilting his face up. You brush your thumb gently along the creases at his eyes, like you could wipe away the worry, the hurt.

“Jack…” You start, but nothing else comes out. He blinks, and to your surprise, doesn’t do his tough guy thing and shrug it off. Instead, he exhales – like he lets everything go, a slow deflating balloon – and closes his eyes, leaning softly against your hand. Hard, tough, 76, who discarded his name in favour of a number and threw away his everything in the name of justice, lays his broken core out open in your hands.

Your heart squeezes so hard in your chest you almost forget to breathe, and you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him to your shoulder. You can’t help the stray tear that escapes down your cheek as you rest against his soft, silver hair. You don’t know what to say, you want to say that you’re here, you’re alive. You want to tell him not to worry, you want to tell him that you’ll be more careful from now on, that you’ll be here forever, that you didn’t mean to hurt him. None of it comes out.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper when you finally find your voice, your fingers bunched on his shoulders. “I’m so, so sorry,” Your voice breaks, and you feel his arms gather around your midsection, wrapping around your waist. His big hands hold onto your sides like you would fly away if he didn’t. He doesn’t pull you close, instead _he_ leans into you and breathes in deeply, as if it was his last breath on earth. His words are soft and quiet against your neck, but you can hear it clearly, can hear the catch in his breath, the rawness of his voice.

“You’re not the one who should be sorry.”

* * *

 

Angela yawns before she opens the door, giving herself a pat on the face to wake herself up. She knocks on the door and pushes it open, holding the breakfast tray at her hip.

“Guten morg –” she says cheerfully, before cutting herself off quickly as she sees the scene on the bed in front of her.

Jack lies on the bed beside her, an arm tucked around her shoulders as she curls up at his side. His head rests on hers, and there’s no sign of weariness on his face. It’s a tight fit, but somehow they make it look like the most comfortable thing in the world. They’re both fast asleep, and Angela smiles at how peaceful their faces both look. Jack hadn’t slept more than 3 hours a night since she had come back injured, checking her condition every few hours, with or without Angela. It’s been a long time since Angela had seen Jack so relaxed and it warmed her heart, to see flashes of that gentle man again, the one she had once so gladly followed into battle.

“Maybe 5 more minutes.” She smiles again, and closes the door right on Hana and Lucio’s face. “Aren’t you two up a bit early?”

“She said she wanted to play cards.” Hana places her hands on her hips. Lucio nods along eagerly, trying to – and unsuccessfully – hide a set of speakers behind his back.

“Well, she can play cards later. She needs lots of rest.” Angela ushers them away from the door and they reluctantly obey. A knowing smile tugs at her lips. “There’s sausages and eggs for breakfast.”

The both of them perk up visibly, and Lucio is already running in the direction of the eating hall, “Race you there!”

“Wha – No fair!” Hana yells and sprints after him, leaving a trail of what Angela could only hope were nice, friendly Korean phrases. Angela sighs fondly as she watches, and tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

“Back to work.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What comes after a successful recovery but a party with all your favourite ex-agents? Like hell you're losing to Lucio in a drinking game, and Lena is having way too much fun teasing you about 76. Angela's a skilled veteran at handling drunks, but 76 certainly has his own...ways of dealing with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoohoooooooooooooooooooooooooo thanks so much for all the feedback last chapter, you guys are so kind and lovely! I'm really glad you enjoyed, it brightens up my day so much you have no idea!  
> So, I caved, it totally became romantic 76/reader (sorry not sorry) but that doesn't mean I don't love writing Overwatch agent interaction, so there's plenty of that in this massive chapter! There's also drinking in this chapter, alcohol and such, and most certainly adult themes involving 76 - hence that nsfw-ish tag (we get a lil frisky ᕕ( ⁰ ▽ ⁰ )ᕗ)  
> Other than that, I think I'm just doing one more chapter, I'm still kinda thinking on how it's gonna go, so don't hold your breath ;-;  
> Hope you enjoy!

Rehabilitation is so much tougher than you thought it would be. Sure, you knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but you had a newfound respect for those who had mechanical changes to their body. Sure, the leg looks pretty bad ass – the metal shines and much of the intricate machinery gleams with your favourite colour – it’s reminiscent of Genji’s body, since Angela and Torbjorn were the ones who made it for you.

Attaching a suitable mechanical prosthetic wasn’t the hard part – it was learning how to walk and use it like another part of your body again that was difficult. While the nerve connection all happens while you’re doped on pain medication, putting pressure on the new leg sends sparks of pain shooting up your spine. Rehabilitation sessions usually leave you sweating and huffing, but Angela and Lucio are always there to help with the healing and fatigue. There are constantly ex-agents dropping in to offer their help during their free time. Your mechanical leg softly whirrs when you move, a smooth, vibrating hum, and feels completely without kinks. Your favourite part are the glowing lines that can dim and turn off depending on the time of day. Even though they just showed the path of important wiring for repair purposes, they looked cool as hell.

76 doesn’t come often when there’s a large crowd, but he’ll occasionally sit down and watch you with Hana and Lucio livestream Starcraft or League of Legends. You don’t play, but watching them laugh and swear and curse ‘feeders’ puts a grin on your face. On the rare occasion, Hana will even ‘convince’ (i.e threaten with tantrums) 76 to play Hearthstone, but you’ve yet to see a game where he seems to know what’s going on or what he’s doing. Eventually Hana gets frustrated and takes over, to which 76 just shrugs and goes back to bugging you about mechanical leg maintenance and health hazards. You groan and complain that he’s too uppity, but there’s a small part of you that glows knowing he’s invested time in research and making sure you’ll stay safe.

Finally, after what feels like years but is actually a whole lot of months (praise modern medicine), you’ve been approved by Angela and Winston – who had flown in all the way from Gibraltar as soon as he had heard about your condition – to go back into the field. Lena and Lucio high five you as soon as they hear, and immediately start planning a party to celebrate your full recovery.

* * *

 

So here you are, dressed in your best party outfit, relishing the way the cool ventilated air brushes against your bare skin in comparison with the scorching heat outside. You can feel with your leg, but it’s a different kind of _feel_. Muted, in a way, yet sensitive to the slightest of changes in the environment. You can feel the fabric of your clothes brushing against the metal, and the warmth when it touches your other leg, and at the same time you know you could kick a brick in half without feeling a pinch. You imagine Genji must have felt overwhelmed when he first woke up in his new body, if this was the kind of sensation he experienced.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Lena’s waving a hand in front of your face, an amused grin on her face. You blink and shake your head clear of any strange thoughts.  

“Nothing much. Mostly alcohol.” You grin wickedly. Lena pretends to look scandalised, and shakes her finger at you.

“Hana’s still underage.” Lena loops her arm through yours and you walk towards the hall where the party was being held.

“Well, I’ll just make sure she doesn’t drink. Plus, legal drinking age is 19 in South Korea.” You wave a hand dismissively, and you briefly wonder if you’re a bad adult.

“We’re not in South Korea right now, love.” Lena laughs and pushes you through the door.

“Aw, the party has arrived!” Lucio spins the record on his DJ table and the music glitches smoothly with the beat. The hall was still pretty empty, you guys were there early to set up for the other agents to arrive. You wave and Lena pulls you forward into the hall, spinning you in a quick circle before blinking onto the stage with Lucio to gawk at his set up. You follow close behind, admiring Lucio’s practised and skilled manipulation of all the alien looking buttons and sliders on his mixer.

“What does this button do?” Lena presses it without waiting for a response, and Lucio snorts as a wonky backbeat accentuates the smooth electric music he had been playing. He slides his headphones so that one ear is exposed. “Nice beat.”

“I’m a natural, y’know.” Lena blinks to his other side with a giggle.  
  
“Well, lookatchu!” He glances over and grins at you, giving you a fist bump. “I’m loving your style.”

“Aw, being a suck up isn’t going to make me go easy on you when the drinks come out.” You pinch his cheek playfully.

“Hey, I’m just telling the truth! I don’t need any handicap, thank you very much.” He points his thumb at the ground and makes the music skip ominously. “You’re going down!” 

“Bring it on.” You spread your arms in challenge as you walk away, catching Angela walking in with a plate of treats. You had tried to help with cooking, but was kicked out every time, and eventually just gave up. She catches sight of you and her face lights up as she places the plate down on the nearest table.

“You’re looking well!” Angela clasps her hands together, giving you a head to toe sweep with her eyes. She sighs, placing a hand on her chest. “Du bist wunderschön, Süße.”

“You know it’s all thanks to you, Angela.” You give her a big hug, resisting the urge to swing her in a circle. Angela is looking gorgeous as usual, and her shining blonde hair is in a side braid instead of her usual pony tail. She’s not wearing any medical gear, just a summer dress that brought out the glow in her sky blue eyes. You don’t understand German, but you can tell she’s speaking very fondly.

“How are you feeling? Is anything uncomfortable?” She knows where all your injuries were, her hands delicately running across healed over scars and previous fractures. You laugh and pull her up as she leans close to examine your leg, giving her another big hug.

“I’m fine, Angela! We’ve done this already, you don’t need to worry. Enjoy the party!” You lean over and grab a drink, placing it in her hand. It’s not alcoholic, but contrary to her looks, you know Angela could drink you all under the table. She purses her lips, and then hesitantly takes a sip.

“Just take care, understood?” She reminds you, giving you a soft but stern look.

“Yes ma’am!” You salute and before she can lecture you about calling her ma’am, swoop in and peck her cheek. “Thank you, Angela. I owe you for everything.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Süße.” Angela smiles and fixes your clothes. “You just keep yourself out of trouble, that’s all I ask.”

“I will, promise.” You feel like a bit of a child, despite not being _that_ much younger than Angela. She’s always taken care of you, and you look up to her to no end. Suddenly, your field of view is several metres higher and you can’t help but squeal (just a tiny bit) as you’re swung around. You are by no means a small person, but to Reinhardt you might as well weigh nothing.

“Haha! Look who is up and kicking again!” Reinhardt cheers and puts you on the ground again. Again, you wonder if he makes these jokes on purpose or it’s just incredibly coincidental.

“Reinhardt, do be careful!” Angela scolds him.

“Ah, she is fine. A little hug never hurt anyone!” Reinhardt pats you on the back and you stumble forward a few steps, a grin on your face. His loud, uplifting spirit never failed to make you feel lively.

“Couldn’t keep me down if you tried,” You reply, punching his massive bicep. It definitely hurt you more than it hurt him.

“That’s what I like to hear!” Reinhardt ruffles your hair, before being distracted by the tables filled with food behind you.

* * *

 

Slowly, ex-agents file in, though you know some couldn’t make it because of assignments overseas. You keep an eye out for 76, but you often get swept away into conversation and your eyes stray from the door.

“Howdy.” McCree greets you and you jump, not noticing his approach at all. You realise with a start that it’s because he’s not wearing his hat, and that’s what you always look for when it came to the cowboy. “Whoa there, it’s just me.”

“Ah, but it’s not _you_ yet!” You hold up a hand and run to Lucio’s desk, picking up the hat you had dropped off earlier. You hand it back to him and he looks almost relieved, sighing contentedly as he places it back on his head. “Now it’s you.”

“Much obliged,” he says with a smile. “Yer lookin’ mighty fine, told you it’d work wonders.”

“Mmm…” You tap your chin with a finger and give a big shrug. He gives you a look and you laugh, patting your chest. “Worked wonders for me here.”

You skip over to a table and beckon him over as you pick up two glasses filled with ice. His face turns into one of pleased approval as you pour whiskey into both of them. 

“How ‘bout a drink, cowboy?” You hand him the other glass and he raises it in thanks.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He grins deviously. “Bottoms up.” He throws it back and you do the same, whistling as you feel it burn all the way down your throat.

“That hits the spot.” McCree nods in satisfaction and puts the glass down, offering out the bottle again. You hold out a hand, shaking your head as you grimace.

“I’m not like you, _my_ liver actually works at a human pace and needs to take it slow.”

“Your loss.” McCree shrugs and pulls up a seat, looking ready to settle at the table for the night. As you go looking for some water to wash away the taste of the strong alcohol, you feel it settle into your body like warm mist, sending that buzz into your blood.

“I am glad to see of your recovery.” A slightly mechanical voice says from behind you and as you turn around, a silver, metallic hand places a cup of water into your hand. You’re not surprised you didn’t hear him. Genji is, quite literally, a ninja. A giant smile bursts across your face and you give him a hug, careful of the water in your hand. His hand pats your shoulder gently.

“Genji! I thought you couldn’t make it!” You take a grateful sip of your water and put it down. He was always observant and very thoughtful about others, though he went about it very subtly and never expected thanks in return.

“I was able to finish my task faster than expected.” The green glow of his masked face turns down to your leg. You feel very conscious of his observation, even though he wasn’t obvious about it. “I had heard rumours, but I am saddened to see that they are true.” His slight accent is tinged with honest empathy. It means a lot, coming from him.

“Well, it just means that I’ll be a bit closer to being able to beat you.” You take up a mock fighting stance. His head tilts back up at you and the green glow of his gaze brightens slightly. In the very next instance, you’re blocking a sturdy punch, barely able to recover before you skip back to dodge the follow up grab. You counter it and tangle your arm in the crook of his elbow, and you could swear you hear a small amused laugh at the same time you remember arm locks don’t work on Genji. You forget every time. Your fighting style is based in instinct – sometimes it was a good thing, sometimes it was not. You attempt a trip instead, but your balance tips as your unfamiliarity with the capabilities of your new leg throws you off. The alcohol kicks in too, and you overcompensate way too much. You knock into the table and bump the glass of water off as you tip backwards.

In one smooth motion, Genji stops your fall as he catches you with one hand in the small of your back and the glass with his other. He puts the glass down calmly and helps you right yourself.

“…Thanks.” You pout but can’t help laughing, and Genji looks entertained. You don’t know how you can tell, but you can feel it emanating from him. It was the way he held himself, the lights on his mechanical body, the subtle cues in his voice. “That’s not fair, I’m only one quarter robot! I’ll never defeat you.”

“Then it appears your only other option is to outsmart me,” Genji tilts his head, and somehow you can just _tell_ he’s smiling, “But that is another feat you are yet to perform.”

“Oh, just you wait until we get a Wii, I will kick your ass at Mario Kart,” You say huffily. He audibly scoffs this time, and shakes his head.

“That is an unwise challenge, I must warn you.”

“Don’t tell me you’re good at Mario Kart too,” You whisper dramatically and he chuckles, his shoulders moving up and down slightly in a small, provocative shrug.

“We shall see when the time comes,” he says with a small laugh. He turns serious for a moment as he straightens, turning back to you after glancing at the entrance to the hall. “But you must remember to be mindful of your health, if we are to see the day of our contest. There are many here who hold much concern for you.”

You blink, not expecting the sudden, thoughtful words from Genji, but it makes your heart warm and a smile lights up your face.

“I know. I’m very lucky to have all of you.” You look over the party fondly, waving at Hana when she looks over from Lucio’s DJ table. She makes a love heart with her hands, before being quickly distracted by the blinking buttons.

“As we are lucky to have you.” Genji places a hand on your shoulder briefly, and reaches over to the table. “Then, to your health.” He hands you a small white cup, and you can smell that the clear liquid that swirled inside was sake. There’s a small, mechanical buzzing sound and the bottom half of Genji’s face mask slides open smoothly. You can see the scars that mar his skin, but just like 76’s scars, they speak of the strength and beauty in their owner’s perseverance. You know Genji’s biology isn’t the same as it was, and it’s with a tinge of honour that you take the cup he hands you.

“Um, what was it…?” You think hard and this time you actually see Genji’s lips rise in a smile.

“Kanpai?” He clinks the glass against yours.

“That’s the one! Kanpai!” You say before finishing the drink in one go, sticking your tongue out at the taste. Genji is already closing the mechanical plate on his lower face, but you can hear his soft chuckle. You bid him goodbye as more people arrive, and with a start, realise that 76 is leaning against the wall near the entrance. You wonder how long he’s been there. It looks like he’s made an effort – or at least Angela made him try – to dress for an event, though you knew if he had his way, he’d just show up in his uniform everywhere. The first few weeks they had been recalled, he hadn’t even liked taking off his visor.

To be honest, it was quite refreshing to see everyone in nice, casual wear, compared to their usual work clothes, and 76 was no exception. He was wearing a deep navy t-shirt that fit _just_ well enough that it looked casual, and yet clung to his broad shoulders and waist in a way that almost seemed obscene. Despite the heat, he’s still wearing long pants, but they’re neat and look comfortable. His arms are crossed over his chest, and the soft, orange glow of the room softens the scars criss-crossing his visible skin. 76’s blue eyes slowly sweep across the entire room, and you can feel him absorbing every small detail. They come to an abrupt stop on you, and you blink, stopping yourself from staring. You wonder if he knows how dashing he looks. Jack Morrison was a catch when he was a poster boy, and it looks like that hasn’t changed over the years. A blur of colour to your right is the only thing that alerts you to Lena blinking to your side.

“Admiring the view, love?” She asks cheekily, a grin on her face. You roll your eyes, but you’re a little embarrassed that you were so obvious.

“What’s not to admire? That’s a man who probably benches his own weight for fun.” You play it off, and she leans closer and speaks in a dramatic whisper.

“Y’know, I’ve never seen the commander move so fast.” She nudges your side.

“What?” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and she points to Genji.

“When you fell.” She looks up at you suggestively. “Shame Genji caught you, else it’d have been him.”

“You know he’s like that with everyone. All tough on the outside but get a cut and he’s got a Band-Aid and disinfectant faster than you can say ‘I’m fine, 76’.” You scoff, but Lena shrugs and zips around to your other side, wrapping an arm around your waist to give you a hug.

“Aw, we all know he loves us, but his soft spot?” Lena bumps her hip into yours lightly. “It’s definitely you, love.”

 You look over at 76, and back at Lena. She gives you another cheeky grin and twirls around with a shrug.

“But what do I know?” She sing-songs, winking at you before zipping off to make McCree show her how to do the ‘cowboy dance’.

Of course you knew you and 76 were close, he’d taught you almost everything you know, but you had never really thought about it that way. Your heart skips a beat when you look over back at 76, and it’s an odd emotion that runs through your chest. A mixture of fondness and a pang of…who knows what. You’re about to go over and say hello when a hand grabs your arm.

“You ready to lose?” Lucio grins, dragging you to the drinks table.

“Oh – I was just –” You glance at 76, but he’s talking to Reinhardt now, and you feel the disappointment physically settle in your stomach. You put a smile back on your face, cracking your knuckles. “…Wait, who’s handling the tunes right now?”

Lucio jerks his thumb towards the table, and you’re somehow not surprised to see Hana standing there, wearing Lucio’s headphones and a devious grin plastered on her face as she flicks her hands over the buttons and sliders.

“Well, that does explain the dubstep.” You chuckle and let yourself be taken to the table. Lucio already has drinks ready on the table, and makes a sweeping, grandiose gesture with his arms.

“Loser has to listen to Reinhardt’s music for an hour!” 

“You’re on.”

* * *

 

As the night goes on, Hana turns the music louder, and everyone gets a little tipsier – of course, you smash Lucio, but it’s not without a cost. As Angela sighs at your shenanigans and sends Lucio to his room (Reinhardt picks him up over his shoulder and you can hear him laughing all the way down the hall as he talks about all the great musical choices he can choose from), you blink to try separate the two images of Angela in front of you.  Your entire body is warm from the alcohol, and it’s hard to keep your words from slurring together because there’s a thick haze in your head, but it’s almost pleasant in the way you feel like you can do anything.

“Honestly, why do I even bother lecturing you about safety?” Angela comes over with a glass of water and you smile dreamily at her.

“Thhhaaank youuu!” You almost spill it on yourself as you take it, and she holds it steady in your hand as you take a big swill.

“I think that’s enough for you tonight, schätzchen.” She rests a cool palm against your cheek, and you lean against it with a satisfied sigh. Your skin tingles with almost a numb sensation, and it makes touch seem all the more electrifying. “We’ll get Jack to take you back to your room.”

“Nooo, not 76…” You grumble, shaking your head. Even intoxicated you knew it was petty, but 76 had not bothered to come up to you once that night – so what if you were a little busy, surely he knows you treasure his company. And you know he cares.  But not even a brisk ‘hello’.

“Not 76 what?” His voice cuts through the fog in your head like a hot knife, and you focus your eyes onto the figure in front of you. His arms are on his hips and he looks at you with a frown on his face. You resist the urge to stick your tongue out at him, but you need to remember that you’re an adult. A drunk adult, but still an adult.

“I don’t think she can get back to her room by herself, but I need to stay here with Jesse. I believe he’s fallen asleep on the table again.” Angela glances over at the table with a mild level of concern, and in response McCree (with his head on the table) raises a hand off the wooden surface in a salute, but doesn’t move otherwise.

76 sighs again, and you stand up with a huff.

“I don’t neeeed you to take me to my room!” You proclaim, but instantly feel a wave of vertigo wash over you, and stumble forward. 76 stops your fall with an arm, and you feel the pleasant tingles against your skin. Perhaps you had drunk a little too much.

“Time to call it a night, kid.” He makes sure you’re standing on your feet before putting a hand between your shoulder blades. You let him guide you out of the hallway, haphazardly calling out farewells over your shoulder. McCree slurs out a goodbye.  

* * *

 

The hallway is dead quiet, and moonlight pours in through the windows lining the side. Your footsteps are loud and uneven, while 76’s are steady and calm by your side. Your heartbeat is loud in your chest, driven by the alcohol in your system and the heat of 76 at your side. You realise you’re leaning against him heavily, but otherwise you’d probably fall, and it felt so comforting that you didn’t want to stop.

“You didn’t say hi,” You mumble, and he glances down at you.

“You were busy,” he says after a pause. You look up at him and grab onto his shirt lightly. You don’t know if it’s because you want his attention or your knees just feel awfully weak. His face looks gentle in this lighting, and his eyes aren’t stern when he meets your stare. Maybe he’s let his guard down because he thinks you’re too drunk to notice.

“I - would’ve made time!” You know you aren’t talking too clearly, but you’re sure he understands. “I wanned to talk to you.”

“Mhm,” he replies with a non-committed hum. It almost sounds pleased, but you couldn’t really tell in this frame of mind. You’re about to complain, but all of a sudden, your knees buckle as you feel like the ground collapses beneath you.

“Oh,” You drop like a rock, but before your brain can even register falling, 76 has already got you, pulling you up with his large hands around your shoulders. “I’m sorrrrry,” You say sheepishly, holding onto his arm because you can feel your legs shaking. He sighs and you feel him scrutinise your state as he looks over you.

“Alright, you drunkard. Stand still.” He moves from your line of site and you try to turn and follow him. “I said, _stand still_.”

You do as your told and in the next moment, you’re being lifted into the air as a large arm sweeps beneath your legs and another catches your shoulders when you fall. You grab onto him instinctively and your vision shakes at the sudden change of position. He’s so warm, and there’s such a sweet, cedar scent around him that you bury your face into his neck. You can feel him breathing, and maybe you wouldn’t have let him do this any other day, but his touch feels so good and your judgement is skewed – pride practically non-existent.

“You looked good today,” You mumble, closing your eyes in contentment. You feel a grumble in his chest as he scoffs. “I bet Angela chose your clothes.”

“She did.” He’s not even breathing hard, you wonder if you weigh anything at all to him, or if he’s just really that strong. You know your new leg is all lightweight and modern, but even then. “No one was looking at me tonight.”

You lift your head up, confusion on your face.

“Huh?” Is your smartest response, and his eyes flicker to you and back at the hallway.

“You were…” He begins hesitantly, as if looking for words, “…very…pretty tonight.” The words sound a little awkward coming out of his mouth, and they sounded odd in his low, gruff voice, but you had never heard anything more lovely. You’re shocked for a moment, then you beam at him as a pleased flush spreads on your face. Of course, your first thought is to tease him.

“What, I’m not pretty allllll the time?” You tilt your head and give him a playful poke on the chin. He stops in his tracks, giving you a surprisingly serious look. You’re a little bothered by the silence, but he tightens his grip on your shoulder.

“Of course you are.” This time, his words have never sounded more sure. “Always.”

Before you can even respond, he starts moving again, his eyes focused in front of him. Your heart is beating unhealthily fast, and this time you know it’s not because of the alcohol. Flashes of wild emotions race through your chest but it’s all fast and confusing, so it’s probably better not to say anything you might regret. Your face is hot, and you’re too embarrassed to look up in case he turns his head so you just stare at his neck. This wasn’t the way it should be, it should be you teasing _him,_ you’re not the one who’s supposed to feel flustered. Your eyes get caught on the way the muscles move smoothly along his shoulders, the shadows cast along his collarbones, faint marks and blemishes on his skin that detailed the battles he’s been through. Without even thinking, you trace a circular scar that lines the collar of his shirt with your fingers. It looks like a bullet wound. He exhales softly but doesn’t say anything, and it’s obvious both of you are aware of the sudden change in atmosphere.

“Will you tell me about how you got this? One day?” You ask softly, resting your hand on it. You know the stories about a lot of his scars, you were even with him when he received some of them, but you want to know everything. He says nothing, but his thumb moves across your skin, and it’s too soon that he stops in front of your room.

“Key?” His voice is quiet and gruff and you swallow the lump in your throat.

“Not locked.” You try clear your head and all of a sudden you regret drinking and being so incapable of thought right now. He gently sets you down, but keeps an arm around your shoulders. The door clicks open and you feel a rush of comfort at being in your own room. It’s decorated with your favourite pictures, but it’s not too extravagant, as you never knew how long you’d been in one place. It looks mystical, with moonlight melting over the bedsheets and making everything look like liquid silver. 76 guides you in and you make a beeline for the bed. You collapse onto the soft mattress and groan at just how comfortable it feels. You gather the blankets around you and bury your face into the pillow.

“Hey.” 76 shakes your shoulder and you grumble, batting him away with a hand. “Don’t sleep in those clothes.”

“It’s fineeeeee…” You mumble into the pillow. There’s a pause, and you think he’s given up but then you remember – it’s 76. Of course he hasn’t given up.

“Stand up, soldier.”

You groan, and this time it’s not because you’re comfortable…it’s because he’s using his commander voice. And there’s something ingrained in your blood that just makes it impossible to disobey when he uses that voice. You rub your eyes and make sure he knows you’re not happy doing this, a giant pout on your face.

“That’s cheatinnnng,” You grumble, closing your eyes because the world is spinning when they’re open. You unhappily attempt to get your fingers to work at your clothes, but it doesn’t work. A frustrated huff comes out of your mouth and you give up, trying to just pull your clothes over your head.

“For crying out loud,” 76 growls and you feel hands tugging at your arms, his fingers brushing against your skin and helping you disentangle yourself from the thin pullover. “You’re like a kid.”

When you’re finally free of the material, you stand in your tank top, the cool air bringing goosebumps to your skin. 76 is a lot closer than you thought he was, and you tilt your head upwards to stare at him. He looks a little exasperated. There couldn’t be more than a hand span between you two, and you grab the bottom of his shirt. His eyes flicker down fast and an emotion flits across his face, too brief for your sluggish reflexes to register. He stands very still, and only his eyes move to look at you. It’s subtle but even you feel it, this sudden change in the air between the two of you. It’s like the hallway all over again. There’s a buzz in the space like someone’s left the gas on and all it needed was one, tiny, open spark to send the place up in flames.

“But I’m not,” You say, blinking up at him. He cocks his head in confusion, a wary look on his face. “I’m not a kid.”

The exasperation leaves his face, and he runs a hand through his hair. You can still smell the sweet, woody scent on him. It’s intoxicating.

“You act like one sometimes.” 76 purposely glances down at your hand on his shirt. You don’t let go, instead giving it a tug so he looked back at you.

“But I’m not,” You insist. You don’t want to be seen as a kid, a child, not by 76. Your persistence is strongly fuelled by the liquor in your system.

“…I know,” He finally replies, a weird hesitation in his voice.

“I mean, I know I can be immature sometimes, and not really serious, and I make stupid jokes –” You know you’re rambling and you’re not even looking at him anymore, you’re just blurting into his chest, but you can’t stop. "– and I’m not as gentle as Angela, or responsible and –”

A hand at your chin cuts your sentence off halfway, and 76 tilts your face up so you can’t escape his eyes.

“I know.” 76 tucks a strand of hair behind your ear with his other hand. “I know you’re not a kid, and you’re fine the way you are.”

There’s a beat of silence, and oh it feels heavy, like the air itself is hanging onto your next words. His sincerity is a little scary, because it makes you feel a bunch of weird things that you have never payed much attention to.

“…You’re not just saying that?” You murmur, leaning forward so you were almost chest to chest with him. It’s cool in your room but he burns like a radiator, you’re almost scared you’ll blister if you touch him.

“I’m not just saying that.” His voice is almost a whisper, and your heart is probably on the verge of giving out, at the speed its going. You take a deep breath, and your voice is shaking when you talk.

“Prove it.” You rest a hand on his chest, and you see 76’s Adam’s apple lightly bob as he swallows. He grabs your wrist delicately, almost like he’s afraid of touching you, and pulls your hand away from him. You were right. His touch feels like small fireworks on your skin, and it’s addictive.

“You’re drunk.” His voice is hoarse. You can feel the tension in his body, a stretched rubber band and maybe if you pull hard enough you can make him _snap._ You want to hear him talk more. You want to touch him more. You want him to touch you. You don’t know whether it’s because of the drinks, but you suddenly want _everything_.

“You said it yourself –” You twist your wrist slowly and his grip loosens, bit by bit, and you run your fingers over his palms, feeling the callouses and the heat of his hand and he lets you, he’s holding his breath – “You don’t see me as a kid?” Your voice is just as quiet, a bare whisper, yet your heartbeat pounds like a drum in your ear. His skin feels like gold static against yours, every touch lighting a small fuse in your chest. Somehow you’re so close you can see his lashes, the minute details on the painful looking marks across his face, every movement of his eyes on your face.

“…I…” His words trail off before he even starts, and it’s the first time you’ve seen 76 speechless. It pleases you a little. You don’t know what you’re doing, but you’ve always been good at provoking 76, you don’t know what you’re provoking him to do or maybe you do –

You slowly unclench your hand around the bottom of his shirt and rest your palm on his hip. “Prove. It.”

The rubber band breaks.

76 makes a sound deep in his chest and his hand grips your chin. You catch his eyes, so much darker now and they flicker to your lips and you lose the time where he moves because the next sensation you process is his mouth against yours. Your brain short-circuits, there’s no thought and there’s only flashes of heat and pleasure, the feeling of his lips on yours is dazing and disorienting – your eyes are closed you don’t even know when you did it but 76 isn’t done with a kiss because he’s _kissing_ –

It’s fierce and gentle at the same time, there’s a fire behind it but a softness that melts your bones. His fingers intertwine with yours and his hand tilts your head so he can kiss you deeper. You are clay and he’s moulding you to his pace and you don’t want to stop but if there’s at least two things you need to survive right now, one is 76, and one is air.

The second your lips part and oxygen sweeps into your lungs, 76 has his tongue along your bottom lip and that’s it, your legs just stop working as a blaze sheers through your spine. Your legs hit the bed and 76 follows you as you fall back onto the soft mattress, it feels like he gives you a slight nudge and your hands find purchase on his shoulders. The blankets crumple around you and the mattress dips where his weight presses into yours. Your chest heaves as you catch your breath, and 76 is on top of you, bracing his weight on an elbow beside your head, another on your cheek, fingers threading in your hair. His chest moves in time with yours, and it’s comforting, to see that you’re not the only one gasping. His eyes move all over you, and when you speak it comes out a rough whisper. This isn’t a 76 you’ve seen before or know but you _like it_ , you like the hunger in his eyes, you like the deep breathing, you _love_ seeing his tongue running over his lips.

“…That’s…” Your eyes flutter and your whisper catches. “That’s pretty good proof.”

“You just never know when to stop, do you?” He growls into your ear, he sounds almost angry but that’s completely, absolutely fine with you. His breath is hot against the nape of your neck and he leans back up to your ear. “You drive me crazy.”

You gasp when you feel teeth against your earlobe and it sends a scorching shock right down your spine, into the pit of your stomach. Your fingers tighten and you bite your bottom lip, struggling not to pant like you’ve just run a marathon. Your hand runs along the back of his neck into his hair, and his face is still dropped against your cheek. It’s with the lightest of touches that he presses his lips into your jaw. He tracks it leisurely to your chin and then slowly upwards but he pulls away when you tilt to meet him. You’re met with a sense of loss and a soft whimper escapes your lips. The corner of 76’s mouth moves slightly, in the lightest semblance of a smile. His thumb traces across your cheek and along your bottom lip, and his eyes are mesmerising and they run over your mouth like he’s trying to engrave its image behind his eyelids. You exhale softly, and you lightly touch your fingertips to his hand.

“Prove it again?” You ask longingly, and 76 drops down slowly so close you can feel his breaths against your lips. With a bit of a start, you realise he’s teasing you. Well, here’s certainly an area you never thought his age and experience would have an edge on you. His thumb brushes the corner of your bottom lip and gently pulls, prompting your lips apart. Whatever he’s doing, it’s working, because your heart is thudding and there’s heat bubbling in your stomach and it’s hard to say whether you’ve ever been so turned on in your life. Your fingers tighten in his hair and a deep grumble echoes in his chest.

“Please?” You don’t care if you’re begging. You’d do anything so that he’ll kiss you again. You turn your face slightly into his hand, and you nip at his thumb with your teeth. “Please, Jack?”

His eyes narrow and he’s finally kissing you again, and this time he’s tugging at your lips with his teeth, coaxing your mouth open gently. You’re eager to comply, and you’re sure you make an audible sigh when his tongue runs against yours. Heat burns on your lips and all over your body, a simmering pleasure where your body meets his, and he runs his tongue over your bottom lip. Your body shakes and he draws your lip into his mouth and sucks it lightly and your eyelashes flutter with the lust that runs through your blood. He pulls back and through half-lidded eyes you look at his wet lips, the desire, the satisfaction on his face that he can reduce you to a bundle of aching nerves and hunger. He lowers his face again and you close your eyes in anticipation but his kiss never comes, instead he’s pressing his mouth against your neck, deliberately slow and open mouthed. His hot breath runs over your skin and goosebumps rise all over you, and not because of the cold. Each brush of his lips on your skin leaves a trail of molten sparks, he follows the line of your pulse, and then deviates onto your throat.

“Jack,” You exhale with a soft, satisfied sigh. He pauses, and you frown, unhappy that he’s stopped. His teeth graze the base of your throat, and his hand trails down your arm, to the side of your chest and your waist. His fingers push up your tank top from your hip to your waist and his palm is burning against your bare flesh. He strokes his thumb across your skin. Your hands run down the back of his neck and you can feel the heat underneath his shirt, the muscles moving beneath the skin of his back. You want to feel more.

“…Again.” His murmur is demanding and feverish, his breaths soft against your collarbone. “Huh - ?” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and his hand briefly runs over your backside and tightens against your thigh.

“Say my name,” he breathes and hitches your leg up to his waist, the sudden movement pulling you closer to him.

“Oh,” A soft gasp escapes your mouth and the contact is elating and you’re all too happy to comply. “Jack,” You whisper his name like a prayer and you’re rewarded when his hand grips your leg tight and he presses his teeth into the space between your neck and your shoulder. Your body shudders with the sensation. He bites a little harder and then pulls away, and with the hand that isn’t holding your leg, slips underneath your top along your back. He pushes it up further and his big hand rests hot between your shoulder blades. You didn’t wear it with the intention of it being seen, but your bra certainly was quite nice, with just the right amount of comfort and exposure. Your top had been pushed up enough that it was almost over your chest, and maybe under other circumstances you’d almost be embarrassed to be looked at the way 76 looked at you, but liquid courage ran through your veins tonight. Through your hazy view you see him drink you in, and a complex emotion runs across his face. He stays still, and you can see the familiar creases show on his face when he’s thinking hard. You tilt your head, and bring your hand to his cheek questioningly. He closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them, there’s a softer glint in his eyes. 76 leans down and kisses your half closed eyelids, your cheek, and rests his lips softly against the corner of yours. You want to twist and kiss him but his hands hold your face, and he draws back. All of a sudden, his eyes have lost the fire, and you didn’t like that at all.

“You’re beautiful.” His low voice is husky and sincere, but he pulls your top back down over your exposed stomach. It feels like a rejection, and it hurts deep. “…And you’re drunk.”

“No no no,” You shake your head and reach for him but he pulls himself away, kneeling against your bed as he takes a deep breath, as if shaking himself from a dream, “I’m not just _drunk_ , I...” He catches your hand when you try to touch him. “…I want you.”

His lips press themselves together into a thin line, and his fingers tighten around your hand. He exhales again.

“You don’t want me?” Your voice trembles a little, and he narrows his eyes at you, almost like he’s actually mad. He takes your hand, pulls it under his shirt so you’re touching his bare skin, and you can feel his muscles moving under your palm as he breathes. He guides your hand to his chest, and presses it against his heart. It thuds so hard and fast against your hand, it overpowers your own.

“Don’t be stupid,” 76 murmurs, and his hand engulfs yours for a second more before he takes it away from his body, far too soon. “You don’t know half of how much I want you.”

“Then why - ?” You start to protest, but he shakes his head.

“Sleep.” He stands up and pulls the blankets up from where they’ve fallen onto the floor, gathering them around you. “Clear your head.”

All the heat vanishes from your body, like he takes your body warmth with him. Shadows fall across his face as he backs away, and you’re speechless, you don’t know what you could or should do as he walks away. He turns back once, and hesitates as he leans his hand against the door.

“I…” 76 opens his mouth, but it closes soon after and he turns away. “Sleep it off.”

And with those words, the door clicks shut, and leaves you dazed on your bed, in the throes of conflicting emotions racing through your chest. Your eyes drop to your hands and you sit there, motionless. You’re so lost in the confusion and broken emotions, that you don’t hear the soft thud against your door.

* * *

76 slides to the ground and releases a long breath, burying his face into both his hands.

* * *

Sleep doesn’t take you until dawn, and you dream of nothing but his fragmented kisses and translucent touch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, for a straight female I write a lot of gay porn just saying  
> And lemme just segue that on into whether I'll be doing smut in the next chapter...maybe? I don't think I've actually ever written straight porn, so I'm probably really shit at it tbh, I don't wanna ruin the fantasy, y'know? Well, I'll see, feel free to leave suggestions (no promises tho o3o) I did have heaps of fun writing 76 this chapter though, I headcanon the shit out of experienced, patient, commanding 76 in bed but you know that's just me being me  
> I really wanted some quality Genji time and I believe he can still eat but there's something either different with the way it either tastes or feels, so why not drink too it's a party go nuts :3  
> Also, I'm aware that Mercy is Swiss and should in theory speak Swiss-German but since in the actual game Blizzard may have dungoofed and she speaks German, I went with German translations (she says "Du bist sehr shon, schätzchen" which I hope means, "You are very beautiful, sweetie", actual Germans please help I have no idea I would love a more accurate way of saying this)  
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading, I live on kudos and comments, I literally can't stop grinning when I get them you guys are the best and are incredible <3 <3 come find me on http://smilingchipmunk.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela confirms she is God's gift to humans when you wake up, McCree's got a big, fat, cowboy mouth and you get sent on an impromptu mission to find out what kind of shit 76 has got himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayo what's up? Surprise this isn't the last chapter there was just so much to write that I had to cut it in half (THIS CHAP WAS STILL 7k WORDS), but next one is definitely the last one! It actually got serious a lot faster than I thought it would, I was just chillin' and having fun writing all the OW characters and then blammo what the heckers is going on   
> Brought some new characters out because I lost my shit at the new comics with Ana I s2g this isn't funny Blizzard u fuck why are you doing this to me ᕙʕ ಥ ▃ ಥ ʔᕗ   
> Anyway, I really hope you enjoy, thanks so much for all your kind comments and words and kudos, god it keeps me writing honestly it does <3 <3 <3

When you wake up, the sun is well up in the sky. It’s not a pleasant experience, but you’re young enough that hangovers are still manageable. Your eyes feel a little sore, and your head softly pounds with the regret of yesterday’s drinking. Your tired brain sifts through the torrent of colours from yesterday’s memories and you try to piece together a functioning timeline. Drinks with Lucio, a scattering of dancing in between…oh, you convinced Reinhardt to give you a ride on his shoulders, before Angela actually used a ‘count to three’ threat to get you down. You had challenged McCree to an arm wrestling match, and you realise only now that he definitely let you win last night. Lena showed off a party trick that involved throwing a cherry across the room and then blinking over to catch it in her mouth. You can still remember her ‘tada’ pose as excited cheers echoed around the room. 76 had looked great in his clothes –

Your eyes fly open and you throw back the covers, much faster than your head would’ve liked you to. After you blink away the dizziness, you look yourself up and down. You’ve got your tank top on, and your clothes are crumpled but it’s all still here.

“Oh…” You cover your mouth as you frantically stitch together the remnants of what happened between you and 76. Your fingers touch your lips softly, and warmth rises to your cheeks when a surprisingly vivid memory of his kiss comes flooding back. You can still feel his touch, see flashes of his intense eyes and hear his low voice, brushing against your ear.

“Well, shit,” You whisper and let your hand fall. It’s not like you had never noticed him _in that way_ , while you were training or out on missions, or even when you just spent quiet time beside each other, cleaning weapons, doing the dishes.

But you’d never thought about feeling like this towards him before, much less how he felt about you. You know 76 cared, but you’d never imagined seeing his eyes look at you like that, like it was all he could see, like you were the only thing that _mattered_.

At least, he did before he left. You could understand why, he was just that kind of person. Golden boy Jack Morrison, always doing the right thing, when all you wanted was for him to do something wrong. Never one to take advantage of anyone, even if they were begging for it.  You frown, a little embarrassed at your actions last night, but even more than that…what the hell were you supposed to do now? Forget about awkward, how on earth are you supposed to look him in the eye? You rub your face with your hands and let out an aggravated sigh. You were too hungover to think straight. It was better to just go get some food and coffee, maybe try recollect yourself and your thoughts.

* * *

After getting dressed and washing up (slowly and delicately), you make your way lethargically to the cafeteria, peeking in when you hear voices. It was clean and furnished well, the walls a soft white, decorated with several tables and benches.

“Ah, good afternoon, my friend!” Reinhardt waves from a nearby table and you wince at his volume, raising a hand in response. You see Angela poke her head out of the kitchen window and smile sheepishly at her knowing look. You sit down at Reinhardt’s table and he laughs when you slump across the tabletop, resting your face against the cool surface.

 “Ain’t that a voice that could raise the dead.” A muffled voice comes out from the other side of the table, and you lean over to see over the edge. McCree is lying down with his back on the bench beside Reinhardt, hat over his face, one arm leisurely hanging off the side.

“You certainly look like you need some raising,” You comment, resting your chin on your hand. He raises a hand and pushes his hat upwards with a finger, an amused look in his eye as he gives you a once over. His beard looks a little scruffy and unkempt, but McCree was so good at pulling off the rugged look it was obnoxious.

“Look who’s talkin’.” He rises up on his elbows and stifles a yawn.

“All of you look just fine,” Angela assures as she walks out with a tray. It carries coffee and a greasy ‘breakfast’ of eggs and bacon and you gaze at Angela with the most adoring eyes you’re capable of. She looks surprisingly chipper, even though you were sure she was going to be a tiny bit displeased at all of your recklessness last night. She sets the tray down and distributes the food and mugs across the table. The biggest plate went to Reinhardt and his grin stretches across his entire face, while McCree nurses his mug like it holds the secret to eternal happiness.

“What did we do to deserve you, Angela?” You sigh happily as you take your plate.

“Doc, yer a walkin’ miracle.” McCree agrees as he breathes in the rich smell of the coffee and takes a loving sip.

“Honestly, I’d rather ask what I did to deserve you,” Angela teases gently, hiding a laugh behind her hand when you act hurt. You dig into your food, forgetting about your troubles for a moment. Angela makes soft conversation with Reinhardt, and occasionally you and McCree trade remarks. You complain about him letting you win the arm wrestle, but he denies it, a small smile on his face the entire time. It was so familiar and comforting, that it was easy to push any turmoil to the back of your mind. It’s while you banter with him that you notice his eyes flickering between your eyes and your neck. He takes out a cigarillo and puts it in his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully. He would never light it in the dining room, he was too well mannered for that, but Angela eyes it disapprovingly.

“What?” You ask suspiciously, eyeing him as he shrugged.

“Didn’t realise we had ourselves a bed bug problem,” he drawls, tapping his collarbone when you raise an eyebrow. You look down at your own collarbone, and your jaw drops as you catch the red purple mark on your skin. A hickey. 76, old man extraordinaire, biologically enhanced soldier, _ex-strike commander of Overwatch,_ left a _goddamn_ love bite on your neck. You splutter as you tug your collar up, and McCree slaps the table lightly as he laughs at your embarrassment.

“Listen here, cowboy,” You’re flushing, cheeks burning red but you lean forward in your seat to give him a warning finger, “Not a word to anyone, alright?”

He chuckles, taking the cigarillo from his lips and making a zipping motion with his hand across his mouth.

“None of my business what you n’ the commander do in yer alone time, darlin’.”  McCree winks and your eyes go wide, he leans back leisurely as you lunge for him across the table with a mortified yelp.

“You and your big mouth, I swear to _god_ , Jesse McCree!” You threaten, but you doubt you look very intimidating right now, with the blush dyeing your cheeks, your hand clutching your collar around your throat. McCree looks anything but subdued, his grin decorating his face like a medal. He opens his mouth, no doubt for another teasing quip, but he’s interrupted suddenly by a new voice.

“What’s all the commotion?” Fareeha tilts her head as she walks in. McCree shrugs and kicks back, taking a satisfied sip of his coffee. She looks confused and turns to you.

“Nothing!” You clear your throat. “Nothing.”

“Well…it’s good to see that you’re up.” Fareeha rests a hand on your shoulder, a playful smile tugging at the edge of her lips. You had actually not spoken much with her last night, since she had come in later due to an assignment and, well, by that time you weren’t taking in much.

“I’d rather not be, I’ll be honest,” You scoff, sliding over on the seat to let her sit beside you. While you knew she hadn’t been part of the original Overwatch – by the time she was ready to enlist, Overwatch had already been disbanded – she was now an incredibly valuable part of the recalled team. Her leadership skills were superb, and her combat expertise was second to none. “Thanks for coming last night. I would have said hi, you know, if I had been capable of fluent speech.”

“It was my pleasure. Are you sure you’re ready to get back into the fight?” Fareeha’s dark brown eyes shine with concern. Angela is already returning with another cup of coffee, and slides it in front of Fareeha with a fond smile.

“Been itching for it,” You reassure her. “How was your operation? Was it successful?”

“No casualties, and all civilians were evacuated safely.” Her genuine smile is heart-warming. “The riots aren’t even close to being over, but it’s a small victory.”

“Working this double life must be tiring, it’s good that you’re here for a break,” You say. Fareeha worked for Helix Security but also somehow made time to work with the ex-agents as part of the recall. You knew she was driven, and it was incredible to see what an amazing woman she had become after looking over her all these years.

“It’s no chore, I can’t imagine doing anything else.” She shrugs light heartedly and brushes her dark, glossy hair behind her ear. “But it is nice to be able to see you all again.”

“I’m just happy you’ve returned safely.” Angela pats her hand and gathers the empty mugs on the table.

“It’s a shame Jack had to leave so soon, I would’ve liked to spend some time in his company.” Fareeha frowns lightly, and you furrow your eyebrows.

“Leave? He’s here, isn’t he?”

She looks at you and tilts her head. “He didn’t tell you? I suppose it wasn’t an official mission, but you know the commander. He doesn’t exactly follow the rules anymore.”

You slowly shake your head, a tightening sensation gripping your heart. He hadn’t mentioned anything, not even before what happened last night. You try your best not to feel slighted, but it was hard considering the circumstances.  McCree suddenly looks like he doesn’t want to be here.

“Weren’t you approved for active duty?” She glances at Angela, who nods in confirmation. “I thought for sure you would go with him.” 

“Maybe if he had told me.” You bite the inside of your cheek and put on a stiff smile. “Excuse me, I have to go.” You get up and Angela looks concerned at your sudden change in behaviour.

“Is everything alright?”

“…Yeah, don’t worry about it.” You force sincerity into your voice, if only to reassure them. “Let’s catch up more later, okay?” You smile at Fareeha and rest your hand lightly on her shoulder, and she nods hesitantly, her eyes flickering to Angela and back to you.

“I’m sure there was a reason,” she says as you turn, and you hope the smile you give back isn’t too unbelievable.

“It better be a good one.” 

* * *

 

“Oh, just the person I needed to see!” Winston lumbers over, quickly setting down a peanut butter jar behind a stack of papers when he sees you raise an eyebrow.

“Hey Winston. If it’s about my injury paperwork, I’ve already handed it in. I’m here to talk to you about 76.” You walk over to his desk, where papers are scattered all over the surface and a large, holographic screen sits above.

“Actually, so am I.” Winston adjusts his glasses and gestures you over so you can see the detailed touch screen display. He pulls up the mission files and statements sifts through the documents until he finds 76’s recent file. When he sees your look, he gives an innocent shrug, his huge shoulders brushing against you as they move up and down. “I’ve taken the liberty of tracking the commander’s…76’s ‘private’ missions.”

“Does 76 _know_ you’re tracking his missions?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. You’re impressed but not surprised – Winston’s database was impeccable and it was no secret he cared about the agents. More information meant knowing how to proceed in the safest manner, even if 76, the one-man army, liked to run in headfirst.

“Sort of.” Winston clears his throat and scratches his head. “Anyway, I was gathering information on his latest operation, and…I feel like there’s something that just doesn’t sit right with me.”

You frown at Winston’s grave expression, and he lets you take over at the desk.

“I was looking over the information again, but I can’t put my finger on it. I was hoping you could.”

You scan through the data he’s collected, news headlines, pictures, even top secret files he’s extracted from agencies, all about the gang that’s been running rampant in Mexico – Los Muertos. You skim past a few LumériCo articles and documents, pulling up more headlines of gang activity. They claimed to be revolutionaries, but it was all a front for their criminal operations, they smuggled weapons, vandalised the city, terrorised the citizens and they didn’t hide their distaste for the omnics living in the city. You knew 76 had a vendetta against their operations, and you remembered very bitterly how his last encounter had ended.

So what if he had superior healing to normal people? You can still remember the night. You weren’t even supposed to be there, you were just checking on 76’s mission progress since your own assignment was nearby. You remember the red staining his gloves and his side, the huge, purple and blue bruise that had spanned the left side of his torso, littered with cuts and burns. You remember hearing the sharp clink of miscellaneous pieces of shrapnel falling to the ground as you pull them out piece by piece. Never had you been so thankful of his protective uniform, which had taken the brunt of the force of the grenade. An “unaccounted for disruption” had almost taken a chunk out of his side.

“…He went back to Dorado,” You spit the words like they taste of ash. Several bold headlines speaking of Los Muertos’ increasing criminal activities and rise in violence stand out. A word catches your eye, and you zoom in on a heavily blacked out document. “…Talon? What does Talon have to do with Los Muertos?” 

“That’s what I want to know.” Winston directs your attention to a glowing timeline he’s created. “I’ve been trying to stay one step ahead of them, but it’s difficult. Their intelligence is solid but I have a loose idea of their movements. Los Muertos starts gaining momentum as soon as Talon steps into the picture, and Athena’s been scanning every picture and video coming through on traffic cameras and whatever’s being put online.” He clicks open a small stack of dark photos. They’re of the small streets and alleyways of Dorado, even some of taller buildings, balconies and blackened windows. Neon graffiti boasting ‘Los Muertos’ covers the walls, and you can see glowing figures in the dark of the pictures, holding indiscernible crates and boxes.

“Look here, it’s almost impossible to catch.” He points at the dark of an alleyway, and you squint at the photo. It’s a blur of black, a shimmering shadow, but you recognise it immediately. The small, unmistakeable white of a skull, shaped out in the night.

“Winston, that’s – !” You jump up, eyes wide as you point to the screen.

“Reaper.” He nods grimly. He would be one of the people who recognised this agent of death anywhere, having been unlucky enough to encounter him more than once. “Talon’s been helping Los Muertos.”

“Does 76 know?” Your head is racing, trying to figure out all the pieces to this puzzle. Why would Reaper have been so sloppy as to get his picture taken? Talon and Los Muertos knew that there was someone after them, 76 had made sure his presence was known when he went to bust their operations. You would expect Los Muertos to slip up, but Talon, no, _Reaper_ , would never make such a mistake.

“I showed him the pictures, I believe he came to the same conclusion. I didn’t think he’d leave so soon, with so little preparation. I advised against it, but…he seemed a little…” Winston grasps for words, waving his hand in the air. “…out of it, when we talked.”

Oh. You bite your lip, placing your hands on your hip. Winston looks back at the picture and frowns, deep in thought. You do the same, looking closely at the picture. What they knew of him could fit on half a piece of A4 paper, and most of it was from Lena’s and Winston’s encounters.

“Reaper’s better than this, he wouldn’t make this kind of mistake, unless…” You run a hand through your hair as you think. There’s a tick of silence, and there’s a loud bang as you and Winston both hit the table in realisation.

“It’s on purpose,” Your voice comes out a whisper as your mind races. “Talon’s baiting 76.”

“They’re getting rid of their threats.” Winston looks horrified and you shake your head as you try to think. Talon wanted 76 out of the picture, they knew he was capable of tearing down their operations…the only problem was, they can’t find him. 76 isn’t a man who’s caught easily. This wasn’t a slip up, the photo, it was to bait 76 into going back, where they could finish the job. If a highly classified Talon agent was rumoured – let alone actually photographed – to be running around in Dorado, 76 was bound to return in search of answers.

“Winston, we have to tell him now.” You pull out your comm device but he shakes his head.

“That’s another reason I wanted to see you, his line has been offline for 2 hours. I thought…you might know how to contact him.”

Cold water seeps into your veins and panic starts to rise in your chest. 2 hours was enough for anything to happen to 76.  

“I have to go find him.” You turn to leave the room. “Winston, please book my transport –”

“You can’t go alone, it’s too dangerous!” Winston calls out, and his heavy footsteps follow you.

“We can’t risk sending too many people! If this is a trap, we could just be sending ourselves right into Talon’s arms. If it’s just me…I know 76 best. I have the best chance to sneak in, find him, get out.” You shake your head. “I need to be on the next plane out, and I’ll make sure to stay in contact. If it’s safe to send reinforcements, I’ll call for it asap.”

Winston’s fur is all bristled, like it usually is when he’s unhappy or angry, and he takes off his glasses to clean them very thoroughly.

“I don’t like this.” He finally places the glasses back on his face, and you can see the worry in his eyes. You take a breath and place a hand on his soft, furry shoulder. He’s so much bigger than you, but right now it felt like he was so much smaller.

“Winston, you know this is best way to minimise damage across all fronts.” You put on a smile. “And you know I’m good at staying alive.”

Winston sighs and rubs his temples, as you zip your lips shut, knowing being impatient right now would only make matters worse.

“Okay.” He looks up and pushes his glasses higher up onto the bridge of his nose, a new determined light shining in his eyes. “If we’re going to do this, I’m making sure I have eyes on you the entire time, and we’re getting you a better method of communication. Athena, let’s get to work.” 

* * *

 

You crouch behind a dock crate, peering out into the darkness of the peer. You could hear the waves lapping against the sandy beach, punctuated occasionally by the Los Muertos members talking and barking orders. The trip to Dorado hadn’t taken long, not more than a few hours, which was perfect. Winston had received information on the gang’s next big operation: the shipment of weapons coming in this very night at the dock. Since 76 knew, there was no chance he wasn’t going to be here. All you had to do was set your things at a nearby motel organised by Winston and come out immediately, but you had yet to spot 76 or members of Talon.

You made sure to keep your head down and your eyes peeled for any movement on nearby buildings and dark alleys. You tilt your head and activate the device on your wrist. Lena had been testing the new comms system, so it was still in experimentation, but Winston had pulled it out for early usage since you were heading out without more reliable communication. It used a different line too, it was likely that they had jammed the signals in this area, which would explain 76’s lack of response.

“Any signs of Widow?” You ask quietly, still keeping your head down. You were very cautious of the infamous sniper; if 76 was the target here, you suspected she’d be looking for him through a scope.

“We’ve scanned every rooftop, building, window around you. No signs of Widowmaker,” Winston’s crackly voice replies through the piece in your ear. “We’ll keep you updated.”

“Understood.”

A smudge of noise catches your attention, and you realise the gang member that had been patrolling to your left was gone.

Another member, whistling to himself as he pushes a hovering cart stacked with crates, strolls by the place you’re hiding. You stay very still, and take the opportunity as he passes to follow him through the docks, near the warehouses. Just as he pulls up to one, you duck up behind him, covering his mouth swiftly and yanking him into the shadows of the building. His muffled shouts of surprise turn to gargles as you put him in a choke hold and wait for him to stop struggling. It’s a bit annoying that he’s covered in glow in the dark, neon blue paint, but you’ll just have to hide him a bit better. When you’re sure he’s out, you peer through the rusted windows of the warehouse.

Through the warped glass, you can just make out glowing colours on the floor of the room. You softly click open the door, and suddenly there’s a hand over your mouth and strong arms dragging you in. Before you can be put in the exact same spot you had just left that other gang member, you kick backwards with your new leg, catching your attacker by surprise. They manage to dodge, but their grip loosens slightly and you use it to twist free. There’s a pause as you come face to face with a glowing red visor in the dark and then your defensive pose drops and you release a huge, pent up breath.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” 76 growls, glancing out the door and closing it quickly as he ducks down and pulls you with him. There are bodies of Los Muertos scattered on the ground of the warehouse. One-man army, indeed. Though you’re not in the clear yet, you’re so happy at just knowing he’s safe that you throw your arms around his shoulders. His pose is stiff for a moment, but then he places a hand on your shoulder, softly pushing you back.

 “What’s going on?” he asks, his tone noticeably less harsh.

“I’ll explain in a second.” You raise your wrist. “I found him, we’re in warehouse 8. Evacuating asap.”

“We don’t have eyes inside, so stay sharp. Good job.” Winston’s sigh of relief is audible.

“ _Evacuating?”_ 76 turns to you sharply.

“It’s a trap,” You explain quickly, peeking out the window. You couldn’t really see much, but you don’t hear anything out of the ordinary. “Talon, they want you out of the picture and - look, I’ll tell you more later but we gotta get out now.”

“We’re not going anywhere until you tell me exactly what’s going on. Los Muertos aren’t going to be this grouped until their next shipment, and I’m not planning on letting them reach that point.” 76 stops your hand when you reach for the door, and you sigh in exasperation.

“Do you really think Reaper is dumb enough to let himself get caught on a traffic camera? We know Talon is affiliated with Los Muertos, and we know that you’re the only thing getting in their way right now. You’re smart enough that I don’t need to spell it out for you.” You glare at him, knowing his stubbornness came from a good place, but you couldn’t afford to waste more time arguing. “We haven’t been able to get in contact with you, what else was I supposed to do?”

76 falters and his red visor throws tinted light at the ground as he turns his head downwards. He snarls deep in his throat and you can hear leather creaking as the hand not holding his gun tightens into a fist.

“Goddamn it.” He tsks roughly and grabs your arm.  “Let’s go.”  

His pace is fast and he turns towards a different door, you have to jog to keep up.

“This one leads straight to a back alley, it’s less populated,” 76 mutters before you even have a chance to ask. There’s an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can’t shake as your brought along. You shiver without really knowing why, and you can feel tingles running down your spine, like spiders crawling over your back. 76 slows down, like he can feel it too, and drops your arm to grab his gun as you near the door. What you initially think is dust swirling around on the floor begins to grow in colour and density, and you finally know why all the hair on the back of your neck is standing.

“Too little, too late.” Reaper’s low voice is throaty and mocking, echoing from behind his cold, white mask. Something about his voice seemed to spark something in your memory, but you can’t quite place your finger on what. His black cloak flows behind him with no real texture, as if it were part of his shadow, and in the sparse light you see the glint of the guns he wields in each hand. 76 holds a hand in front of you, lightly pushing you back. “You were always so easy to predict, Jack.”  

“And you were never good at being modest,” 76 replies stiffly. Your eyes widen at their interaction, and you look between them in confusion. How did he know…? Where did you know that voice from?

76 shifts towards you slightly, you can tell he’s trying to put himself between you and the Talon agent. You know you don’t need to be protected, but you also know that it was in 76’s blood to protect, no matter who it was.

Reaper laughs, slow and scornful, “You’re a wanted man, Jack. Still trying to be the boy scout you always were, except now, you have _nothing_.”

76 stays silent, but you feel your blood boil beneath your skin. What did _he_ know about 76, who was _he_ to talk as if…as if he…knew 76? 

And suddenly it clicks in, the familiarity, their exchange, and you cover your mouth as you realise just who Reaper really is, and why 76 is so interested in Talon.

“Captain Reyes?” You can’t help the words coming out of your mouth, and he turns to you.

This agent that they now knew as Reaper, he had been the captain of Blackwatch, Gabriel Reyes. You knew him, back in the day. You were much younger than, trying so hard to impress the commanders of Overwatch that you admired so much. The three heroes that were always a little out of reach…Jack Morrison, a man you had only seen on posters before you joined, Ana Amari, a legendary sniper and second in command of Overwatch, and Gabriel Reyes, ruthless, unforgiving…death on legs.

All three assumed dead, yet here you are with two of them. You refuse to let your heart jump to the possibility of Ana’s survival, you would not live through the grief of her death again.

You never really had the guts to ask McCree about Blackwatch and its elusive captain, let alone after what had happened. The only time you let a question slip, the smile had dropped off McCree’s face and the shadow that descended in its place felt like someone had snuffed out the sun. That was reason enough for you never to make the same mistake, no matter how curious you were.

You never had a bad relationship with Captain Reyes, but the tension that had mounted within Overwatch had been so palpable you could feel it on your skin. The destruction of the Swiss Headquarters was devastating, and it had changed everything. Your mind reels, you know 76 had survived the fight at a cost, but…

Reaper cocks his head and stalks towards you, and 76 moves more obviously this time, stepping between you and him. The red glow of his visor glints off Reaper’s mask, and he laughs again.

“I’m not surprised. You always did follow the _strike commander_ into any situation,” Reaper spits the word ‘strike commander’ at you like it tasted foul in his mouth. He turns to 76. “ _Ex-_ strike commander. Killing both of you will feel…rewarding.”  

“I think you were cooler when you didn’t talk this much bullshit,” You reply almost instinctively, and Reaper snickers. It's a bitter laugh.

“And you always did like them feisty,” Reaper taunts 76, and you’re surprised to hear 76 growl. Like a shark catching scent of blood in the water, Reaper’s tone grows more provocative. “Young, with so much to give, so eager to _please_ …looks like that hasn’t changed either.”

“I think you’ve said enough,” 76 snarls and takes a step forward, his shoes grinding into the dirty concrete floor.

“Jack.” You know Reaper is pulling 76’s strings on purpose and you place a hand on his arm, but it doesn’t appear to register with him. You can hear the smile in Reaper’s voice as he basically purrs his next words.

“She was always your weakness, Jack.” Reaper’s throaty voice trickles with contempt, and it smooths out as he tilts his head at you. “Does he give you a _treat_ when you obey?”

His voice drips with implication and it’s what pushes 76 over the edge. 76 grabs Reaper by his black overcoat, but before he can do anything, the material dissolves in his hands into black mist.

Reaper’s laugh echoes in the warehouse and you blink, jumping back as the dark fog drifts towards you. As well as invoking a sick sense of dread in your stomach, the fog glows with red, and its glare follows you unwaveringly. You had heard of the physical changes that had happened to Reaper, but seeing it in person was so much more bizarre. Now knowing who it was…it reminded you painfully of how it had all fallen apart. The fog begins to materialise and you can see the sharp glint of his guns as your brain is still kicking into function.

76 grabs your arm and then instantly lets go, lightning fast as a loud bang rings in your ears. There are holes in your jacket and the floor beside you, and you’re suddenly so glad that 76 has faster reactions than normal people. A second bang is followed by metal clattering against the ground, and 76 grunts as he grabs the cuff of his wrist in pain. His gun lies on the floor a few metres away and Reaper kicks it away as he raises his shotguns. You blink as he points it right at your face, and a shot rings out.

Your heart stops for a second, but somehow you’re still living and breathing and you’re staring at Reaper’s midriff. You’re kneeling on the ground, a stinging at the back of your knee and an empty crate clattering to a stop beside you.

“Snap out of it!” 76 barks and you take a big breath, nodding and trying to stop your racing heart at how close you were to death there. If 76 hadn’t reacted for you, your brains would be painting the walls now. Reaper growls and the sound reverberates in your skull, you dive to the side as follow up shots ring out and you see 76 do the same in your periphery. Reaper throws his guns to the ground, and you think you’ve got time for breather, but he pulls two more from his jacket.

“That’s an expensive practice, Cap.” You note and immediately duck behind a pile of crates as he fires. 76 was close enough to the door that he could make it out, but you needed to draw Reaper’s attention first. You wonder if it was foolish, thinking that 76 would do the smart thing and get out, and wait for you to follow when you found a way. You hop up on the next crate beside you and as you see him round the corner, you push the higher crate into his path. Reaper sidesteps quickly, but you jump over the top of the pile before he gets a chance to take aim. You land lightly and of course 76 is there waiting, having picked up his gun. You sprint across the warehouse floor, jumping over neon, motionless bodies. You know it’s only a matter of time before Reaper lines up his next shot, but from what you can tell of his shotguns, the further away you are, the less likely you’d be ripped apart from the spray of the bullets. The captain always had seemed like a person to who liked to deal with violence up close.

You wince as the familiar sound of 76’s bullets splinter into the wood behind you as he covers your escape, and a glance over your shoulder shows Reaper dissolving into the black mist again to avoid the shots. The same tingle trickles down your spine and both of you are forced away from the door as he re-emerges beside you. You know that you can’t dodge Reaper forever, and a quick look at 76 shows that he’s aware of it too. You glance at Reaper and just as he takes aim, you give your new leg a test run and kick the shotguns clear to the wall. Apparently, even all that training with the bags did not give you a good idea of how much strength your new leg was capable of wielding.

The guns _smash_ into the wall, and there’s a tick of silence as all three of you are a bit stunned. Reaper is the first to react and pulls out a new pair of guns – where is he getting all of them? – and without a second of hesitation, shoots you in the leg. There are bright sparks, and you feel the bullets skim past the metal and though there’s no real pain, you still inhale sharply. The impact shakes your bones and a sting settles in where your leg connects to your flesh. It’s too well made to break with just that, but even both Torbjorn and Angela, knowing what kinds of situations you get into on the daily, couldn’t make a leg that could sustain multiple close range shots from a shotgun. There are holes in your clothes and the metal shines through the material of your carbon fibre tights – it’s made to be light and durable, surviving through the nitty gritty of battle, but point blank shot gun rounds were another story.

“That’s new,” Reaper comments idly, as if he didn’t just shoot you in the leg. You don’t have a chance to say anything, there’s a loud clash and Reaper staggers back, a crack in his mask where the butt of 76’s gun has smashed into it. You follow up quick, sweeping his legs out from under him. Reaper grunts and the gun clatters free of his hand as he hits the ground. 76 disarms his right hand, and a quick heel to his other wrist from you does the same.

There’s a tweak in your leg and you wince, unhappy that you’ve damaged it already. Angela was not going to be happy. Reaper notices and grabs your ankle, the strength he has surprising you as he elbows 76 hard across the chin and uses both hands to yank you to the ground. The breath is knocked out of you as you manage to stop your head from slamming into the concrete, but your torso takes the full brunt. You gasp, trying to pull air into your lungs as the impact makes pain sing across the front of your body.

It becomes the last thing on your mind when Reaper’s claw like hands grip onto 76’s throat when he recovers. 76 staggers back as large, gloved hands wrap around his neck. You pull yourself up and grab the first thing you see lying in front of you – Reaper’s shotgun. You hate that there’s hesitation in your hands when you aim it at Reaper, even with 76’s life at stake. Your teeth bite into your bottom lip so hard you taste blood and you pull the trigger, the recoil making your wrist and arm sting as if you’ve been kicked. Reaper lets out an agonised growl, borderline inhuman and for a second you wonder if it wasn’t enough, a point blank shot into his back should have ripped apart his chest but he’s clearly…different now. His body begins to dissolve at the chest, but unlike before, it doesn’t take a wraith form, it fizzles out completely and you’re left staring at 76 on the floor, hand grasping at nothing at his neck.

The gun falls out of your hand, and you stare at the empty spot where his body had been. Maybe he wasn’t Captain Reyes anymore, but…

“You didn’t kill him,” 76’s voice is raspy and he coughs, clearing his throat and cricking his jaw. You blink, looking up. “He’s not dead. I don’t think he…can die, anymore.”

Relief floods through your body and your knees feel weak, and it probably shows on your face because 76 roughly puts a hand on your head after he pulls himself up, before quietly opening the door you had tried so hard to reach this entire time.

“You okay?” 76 glances at you and you nod, the worst you had suffered were maybe some bruised knees and elbows and –

“Oh, shit.” You look down at your wrist and the comms device is cracked, unsurprisingly, it hadn’t survived the impact of concrete with all of your weight behind it. Add ‘durability’ to the list of feedback you need to give Winston – _if_ you get back. “Winston? Do you copy?”

Nothing but empty static greets you, and you shake your head at 76. Police sirens wail in the distance and 76 swears under his breath, reloading his gun quickly.

Reaper wasn’t wrong, 76 was a wanted man, and you were acting on orders from an agency that is currently operating illegally – the police were bad news, and getting caught would set you guys many, many steps behind. You couldn’t contact Winston for help and even though rushing out without any idea of what was out there also didn’t seem appealing, it looked like it was your only option. As you take a tentative step outside, you realise that had Talon not been here, 76 would have been completely fine. He had taken out almost all the members, save for the few at the docks where you had been. It wouldn’t be long until they realised they were missing half their members.

Still, it’s with a slow jog that you run for the alley across from you. Speed with caution. 76 follows behind, and it’s when you’re on the verge of cracking a joke that you trigger the trap.

There’s a soft bursting sound, like a balloon popping, on the large shipping container you run past, and a purple mist fills the air. You’re already breathing it in by the time you even register it’s there, and in an instant it feels like the control has been taken from your body, a burning down your throat as your vision blurs and your legs crumple. Your lungs heave, trying to expel the poison from your system and time slows down when you hit the cold ground as you try to figure out what happened, even as the numbing mist travels through your body. Why was it trapped, why would Reaper trap outside the door –

Your stomach drops when you realise, it’s not Reaper, it’s Widowmaker, she’s here and she’s waiting, the only reason you’re not dead yet is probably because she wasn’t in position but she definitely knows exactly where you are now and panic seizes your system as your mind goes straight to 76. His visor, he’s probably safe from the poison but the words that fill you with horror in your mind right now are not from yourself, but from Ana. _“Some snipers like to wound their targets; it draws out medics and other soldiers, to let you kill more of them.”_

The timer was ticking, and it wouldn’t be long before she lined up the shot.

The poison is fast acting but you could feel it wearing off, it was probably temporary, but you’ve never felt more like a deer caught in headlights, a deer caught in a sniper’s scope.

“Wid – ow –” Your voice is nearly non-existent and punctuated with coughs, 76’s voice is far away but you can see him kneeling on one leg beside you, in full view of every high rise building in the area. He doesn’t understand, you weakly push at him, try to tell 76 to get to cover, you weren’t the one she wanted dead but even if it was it didn’t matter. What were you supposed to do in a life without Jack?

With all the strength you can muster, your dulled nerves propel your hands onto 76’s shoulders, which hover over you and _push_ so hard it sounds like you cracked a bone. His balance tips and he stumbles towards the alley that you had hoped he would, it had cover and the protection of darkness, and you could only hope it would buy enough time for him to get out of here. You know Widowmaker had no trouble with moving targets, but unexpected movement was her worst enemy.

The toxins in your body are fading fast, and you can sluggishly pull yourself up onto your elbows. There’s warm liquid on your face and you wonder why you’re crying when you stagger onto your feet as short, desperate breaths escape your lungs. Your vision is blurry and you can make out the dark, blurry figure of 76 on the floor. You lunge for the alley.

 The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as a shot rings out and chips into the concrete where you had been, your heart is on the verge of stopping as you land on the floor beside 76. Your hands grow hot and wet, did you hit the ground that hard? You look at your palms and you’re so confused by the brilliant crimson that stains your hands, the red that’s pooling on the dirty alleyway ground around 76. You hadn’t been crying. You rub the back of your hand across your face – it comes away smeared with blood.

“…Jack?” Your voice is a gasp, and you dive for 76, grabbing his shoulder, _why was he on the floor why wasn’t he moving why didn’t he grab your hand as you made it over and give you orders or yell at you for being careless_  

And this is when your heart actually stops and everything turns to ash around you, when you turn him and you see the blood soaking his torso and realise that the crack wasn’t the sound of your bones – it was the sound of you being too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huehuehuehue cliffhangers best hangers *finger guns* did u just murder 76 find out next week   
> I basically rewrote the entire Reaper + 76 + Reader scene when the comics came out to fix their dialogue and story, god I love lore and interactions it's so good omfg  
> Also, I guess I'm trying my hand at smut next chapter, I really don't know about this one I'm praying I don't screw it up, send me strength friends   
> Thanks so much for reading guys, your feedback and kudos are what powers this work, thank you so much I can't express how much love I have for you guys <3 msg me anytime on http://smilingchipmunk.tumblr.com/ let's talk headcanons and lore <3 <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes all you can do is hope for the best, and really? Sometimes that's enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the final chapter friendos god it's been a lot of late nights *looks at 4.14 am display* early mornings writing this but it's been great and fun and no regrets!  
> I really had fun and you guys were really the best readers, absolutely so lovely and inspirational <3  
> Righto so smut incoming jesus please be gentle this is my first time writing straight smut goD ITS SO HARD (insert joke about soldier d) idk please god sorry if I fucked it up, especially when it's such a bloody long chapter.  
> I did not know how to tag it so I just went with whatever idk there's porn its nsfw easy peasy lemon squeezy  
> I hope you enjoy, thanks so much for sticking around with me!

“Jack?!” You cry, scrambling beside him, you feel like you’re going to be sick and cry and scream all at the same time. Your hands are shaking as they tear off his visor, his eyes are closed and his skin is deathly pale. Everything around you is black and white and shades of grey. Your fingers leave streaks of chrome across his face, in his silver hair and he’s so still he could be sleeping – you desperately feel for his pulse.

There’s a second of deafening silence, and then the world rushes back into colour when you feel that soft beat against your fingers. Red stains your hands, his face, the ground.

You can feel the moment your brain decides to shut your heart out, the way the doors slam shut on the incoming flood and your training kicks in. You aren’t as good as Angela, but there’s a reason she enforces basic medical training. You pull out the small first-aid kit that all agents were required to have on their person on missions; it’s a tiny pouch, able to fit in the smallest of spaces but able to unfurl and pack in a surprising amount of medical supplies. Of course, you wouldn’t be able to treat him here, this filthy, out in the open alley, but you had to get him back to your room first, where you’re more readily supplied and safer. First thing to deal with was the blood, you could see the wound at his chest, it’s gone through his clothes and you don’t know if it’s hit anything important but you had to act now before he bled out.

To be honest, anyone else probably already would have. 76 was an enhanced soldier, and whatever it was they pumped him with, it was most likely the only thing keeping him alive.  You yank off the cap of the yellow syringe with your teeth and unzip his jacket, stabbing it through the fabric of his underclothes. It was a strong, fast acting and short lived coagulant, but it would buy you some time. You repeat the action where you presume the entry wound is at his back, and finally reach for the purple vial. It worked like smelling salts but stronger, it was designed to wake up unconscious or injured patients in situations exactly like this one. It was far from a good idea to wake up someone to an excruciating injury, but if the alternative was death or of greater danger, extreme measures had to be taken. You stick him with a heavy painkiller first, and then plug the vial into the syringe. You’re worried your trembling hands will make you slip, make you nick an artery close to his heart, but your mind quickly triple locks the door. Sweat drips down your forehead as you finally pull out the needle, disposing it and waiting with your heart in your ears.

He stirs awake with a wet cough, and his lids flutter open like they’ve been weighed down.

“Jack!” You can’t help the relief at just seeing him awake, but it’s far too premature to celebrate.  

“…What…” He groans and tries to sit up, you help him, biting your lip in fear of disturbing the wound in any way. You were on a timer, you didn’t know how long the drug keeping him from bleeding out was going to last, and you had to get him back to the room. “You’re…hurt, how did you get hurt?” 76’s eyes are focusing and they don’t focus on himself, they focus on you and the blood on your clothes and hands. “Where are you hurt?”

“Jack! I’m not the one who was hit!” Your voice cracks and it’s all you can do not to let it bubble over, and he blinks at your words, following your eyes to his chest. You _despise_ the fact he looks relieved.

“Explains the pain,” he grunts like it’s no big deal and you want to slap him, instead you throw his arm around your shoulders and pull him up. He inhales sharply through his teeth, you know the pain killer wasn’t enough to dull all the pain, but everything stronger was back in the room and you glance around wildly.

“We have to get back to my room, I can fix you there,” You say it like you’re reassuring yourself, and you see 76 press a hand over the wound at his chest. It’s so close to his heart. A little more to the left and there wouldn’t be any hope at all. As it is, you had to think about whether the bullet had shattered any bones, internal bleeding, torn viscera – you shake your head, first things first, first things first.

* * *

It’s through blurry eyes that you help 76 through the back streets, agonisingly slow while staying discrete and undetected, the constant fear of Talon at their backs. You get into your room the back way up the alley stairs, muscles burning from the strain of his weight. When you finally set him down on the bed, he’s sweating hard and you can see the way his jaw clenches and unclenches as he endures the pain. He doesn’t say a thing. You sprint around the room, slamming close the curtains and washing your hands of the now sticky blood. You disinfect everything as fast as possible, and pull out the medical kit in your luggage.

Even this motel room wasn’t ideal, but it was the best they had. They had no way of alerting Winston to send Angela or any sort of medical back up, and there was no chance of going to a hospital without being detained and interrogated. Widow knew you were alive, but 76 wasn’t a confirmed kill yet. Talon would be scanning the news and any disturbances at any medical establishment. You lunge for 76’s belt and yank off the biotic emitter. It would place an area of effect field that would accelerate the healing process, but you had to manually clean out the wound and make sure the internal injuries wouldn’t heal wrong first.

“I’ll numb you up the best I can, but it’s still going to hurt, okay?” You use the stronger painkillers and pull out the scissors. He’s breathing hard, and he nods slightly. _He’s alive._

You cut him out of his clothes, there was no way he was going to be able to move that extensively. Dried blood stains his front, you see the exit wound, red and gaping on his right pectoral muscle. It’s not neat like the entry wound, and the flesh is flayed, angry and red.  You bite the inside of your cheek hard, and you take a deep breath, all the way into the pit of your stomach. You pretend Angela is at your side, calmly showing you what to do, telling you to take it easy, don’t let your feelings get in the way. She guides your hand, helps you clean out the wound with water, and you wipe your forehead free of sweat as pink water sloshes and stains the white sheets 76 sits on. Blood runs in rivulets down his torso, it follows the lines of his scarred muscles, colouring the top of his pants red. You try not think about how much blood he’s lost. You use 76’s breathing as a staple, use it to steady your hands, keep you focused on the task at hand, step by step. _He’s alive._

You can hear him grit his teeth, can see the muscles against his neck straining when you touch the injured area. You staunch the bleeding with the better medication available, disinfecting the open wound and bandaging it up with clean gauze. You wrap it around his torso slowly and carefully, you have to bring yourself close in order to get your arms around his broad chest. You can’t smell anything but blood and sweat, his skin glistens with both, and his chest rising and falling is the only thing that keeps you tethered to reality. _He’s alive_.

When you secure the ends and gently guide him so he’s leaning against the headboard, you activate his emitter and place it on the table, watching it glow with warm, yellow light. You can feel it soothing your own fatigue and injuries, but you can’t rest yet. The next 24 hours were the most important, and while 76 needed rest, you had to make sure he didn’t come down with a fever or infection.

“I’ll be back in a second, okay?” You reassure as his tired eyes follow you. You come back with a glass of water, and when he tries to raise his arm with a grimace, you gently push it down.

“I can do it –” He starts, and you give him a withering glare.

“Shut your mouth, unless it’s to drink.” Your tone is steel and he falters. “Doctor’s fucking orders.”

You tilt the cup against his lips, he opens his mouth obediently and you slowly let him drink. When he’s done, you use a wet cloth to clean his face – it’s still streaked with blood. Your hands slow as they wipe across his forehead, your fingers tremble, and you tear your hands away before he notices. _He’s alive._

“I’m going to give you another shot so you can sleep.” You hope your voice doesn’t shake. He catches your wrist as you move for the vial, his stare is exhausted but his blue eyes haven’t lost their intensity.

“You need to treat your own injuries,” 76’s voice is gruff and drowsy, and you pry his hand off your wrist – it’s easy, his grip is weak.

“You worry about me again, and I’ll knock you out myself,” You mutter, fitting the vial into the new syringe.

“I always worry about you,” 76 groans as you inject the drug and help him lie on his side, a sharp grimace on his face. You don’t reply as you sit and watch him close his eyes, waiting until the wrinkles between his brows disappear and his breaths become less laboured. You run your fingers through his hair, somehow it’s stayed soft through everything –

_Thank god he’s alive_

And your face drops into your hand as the dam crumbles and everything crashes through.

* * *

 

Your throat feels raw. The birds are chirping outside, it feels like it’s been forever since you had woken up yesterday. 76 had spiked a fever near dawn that had scared you for a while, but it subsided just as his emitter ran out. His emitter and his own superior healing meant that his condition had gone from life threatening to severe but stable overnight. You checked all his vitals, made sure he was stable before going into the bathroom, and it’s no surprise your face is flecked with blood, lines of weariness making you look far older than you were. There are bags under your eyes, and you rub your face. You take off your dirty clothes, it sticks to your body with grime and blood and you shudder as you peel off your tights. There’s blood on your neck, and you splash water on your face, washing it away the best you can.

Oh. There’s a red line along the side of your neck. It stings, but the emitter had helped it heal and it wasn’t as painful as it should have been. You tiredly wonder where it came from, and the sound of a bullet whizzing past your ear comes to mind. It doesn’t rattle you as much as it should – it feels like you’ve been flirting with death for the past day. Other than that it’s not too bad, just scratches and bruises because of your unfortunate reoccurring meetings with the ground. Your eyes scan past the bite mark at your shoulder, and you almost laugh. It seemed so long ago since 76 had left that there, yet its very existence is proof that it had happened just a day ago.

You blast on the water to boiling, and let it scald your skin, washing away the bruised wrinkles of the day. You allow yourself a moment to just stand under the cascade of hot water, before washing your hair and rinsing the rest of your body quickly. You had to get out to check on 76, anything could happen while you’re not with him. You wrap yourself in the fluffy hotel towel after haphazardly drying your hair, letting the smaller towel sit around your shoulders so the water wouldn’t drip down your back. Your spare clothes is in your luggage and when you pad out quietly, 76 is still asleep on his side.

The lid on your bag is still thrown open beside the bed, medical supplies strewn over the floor and on the bedside table. You kneel on the floor, listening to 76’s breathing as you try to clean the area up, throwing away dirty bandages and towels and empty vials. You take a small bandage and quickly line it against your neck for the wound, it had stopped bleeding, but you didn’t want to risk an infection. The warm air feels soft and gentle against your skin, and your damp skin is drying in the nice climate. As you listen to the quiet sounds of early morning traffic and the sound of people beginning to start their days, you start as you realise that the steady breaths you’d been counting on had stopped. You whirl around and almost jump when you see that 76’s eyes are open, quietly following your movements.

“Make some noise, won’t you?” You chastise softly, kneeling beside the bed and pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. It’s blissfully cool against your warm hand, and you brush your fingers through his hair, relieved that his temperature seemed to have remained stable. “How are you feeling?”

“…You smell nice,” he mumbles, and his hand brushes your cheek, his fingers toying with a strand of your hair. You blink as your heart skips a beat, and you clear your throat.

“That’s not a feeling.” You grab the glass of water on the bedside table and get off your knees. “That fever must have fried your brain. C’mon. I need to change the bandages, okay?”

76 grunts as he tries to rise on his elbows, and you help him to a resting position against the headboard. His eyes seem a little unfocused, they jump across your face and over your body, like he’s confused.

“Hey, I’m serious. How are you feeling?” You grab his chin, forcing his soft blue eyes to focus on you. His eyes flicker across your neck and he nods minutely, pushing your hand away with a gentle hand.

After you’ve prepared hot water and grabbed a clean towel, you kneel on the bed beside him, carefully undoing the bandages. You sink into the mattress, the soft linen brushing against your skin. You wince as you see the wound, it’s obviously better but if it was anyone but 76, it would’ve taken weeks, if not months, to heal. It looked like a couple more days would do the trick for him. You dab the towel around it, now able to thoroughly clean off the blood you hadn’t been able to last night. He remains quiet as you bring the towel to his throat, along his muscled shoulders, across his chest, over his lower stomach. You can feel his abdominal muscles moving as he breathes, and you clear your throat when you’re done.  It was a little dry. He sits up so you can inspect the entry wound at his back and you clean it quickly, grabbing the new bandages and beginning the slow process of wrapping it back around. You’re careful when you lean forward, your fingers pressing the bandage methodically against his warm skin, but you can still feel his breath against your neck when you reach behind him. Goosebumps rise on your skin. Every creak of the bed, every sound is so loud in the quiet room between the two of you. You tilt your head when your hand ghosts over his chest.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” You press your fingers to his neck, where his pulse is. It’s faster than it should be, and it beats fiercely against your skin. He frowns, a tiny turning of his lips.

“Mm.” He glances away and you roll your eyes at his unhelpful response.

“You have to tell me if anything’s wrong, alright? It’s not like we’re properly equipped for an injury this severe, so work with me!” You press your hand to his forehead, brushing his hair back, but there’s no temperature.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, pushing your hand away a bit more agitatedly.

“Then why is your heart rate so high?” You snap, your patience wearing thin at his unco-operative attitude, you didn’t understand why he had to be stubborn in a time like this. He looks at you with narrowed, dark eyes, and his hand grabs the end of the towel hanging around of your neck. The gesture is almost threatening, and your own heart starts to race a little as you twitch, but all he does is wipe away the water at your neck, where it’s dripped down from your hair.

“Why the hell do you think?” He lets it drop and you blink, because 76 waking up had just totally taken over any other thought…it had totally slipped your mind that you were still just wrapped in your towel. Panic seizes you but you force a nonchalant front, carefully moving back from him, conscious of your every movement. The towel wasn’t even that big, it barely covered the top half of your thighs, and sure it covered your chest but not nearly enough for you to be leaning forward. You can feel yourself flushing. The idea of 76 watching you, being distracted by you, it forcefully opened that door you had slammed shut when he left that night. Now was not the time to be thinking about stuff like that.

“Right,” You mumble, embarrassed, swallowing hard and pushing yourself off the bed. You make an awkward gesture. “I’ll…”

You grab the clothes you had pulled out earlier, you hadn’t had time to pack much, but you had a set of normal clothes for every day usage. It was just a simple t-shirt and shorts combo that dealt with the warm weather of Dorado, and it was definitely better than just a goddamn towel. You change in the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face when you’re done. Not the time, now was not the time. Don’t think about 76, don’t think about his eyes on your skin, his accelerated heart beat…

You rub your face with a towel vigorously. A wave of exhaustion hits you when you dry your face, and you rub your eyes. You hadn’t slept at all last night, but you still had a lot to do. You cover the yawn on your face and give yourself a little slap on the cheek to wake yourself up when you leave the bathroom. You still had to figure out a way to contact Winston or anyone at the base, check whether Talon had caught wind of where you had gone, make sure 76 healed up properly…

 “Was it bad?” He suddenly asks, jerking you out of your thoughts as he gestures to your neck.

“Stop worrying about me, old man.” You idly run a hand over the bandage and wince when it stings a little. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Does it hurt?”

You stare at 76, wondering if he was joking. A man with a hole in his chest, asking whether a graze was hurting you.

“…No, it doesn’t hurt.” You sit on the bed beside him, an odd sensation making your heart tremble. “Jack, you almost died. I almost got you –”

You cut yourself off before your voice starts to break, and you take a breath, closing your eyes briefly. They’re startled open when a sudden sting catches you on the forehead. You look up at him with confusion, rubbing your forehead from his flick.

“As one of the smartest people I know, you sure say a lot of stupid things.” 76 tilts his head like he’s genuinely trying to figure you out. “Do you think I’d still be here if you hadn’t come?”

“Well – that’s not the point, I should’ve been more careful when we left, I set off the stupid trap and gave away –” You can hear your voice rising in agitation, in anger at your own recklessness.

“Do you think I’d rather a bullet here,” He motions to his chest, “or here?” He then points at his temple. You bite your lip, and your shoulders slump as you sigh.

“If I didn’t fall for their trap in the first place, neither of us would have gotten hurt.” 76 reaches out and his fingers barely graze your neck.

“That’s not your fault!” You protest and he laughs dryly, raising an eyebrow at you. “Oh.”

You frown, almost unhappy that he makes so much sense all the time. You push it to the side, and gently smooth out the bandage across his chest.

“God, Jack…I just…” You let out a long exhale, and you lean forward, dropping your head down on his warm shoulder. “Thanks for being a tenacious old man.”

His chest grumbles when he laughs shortly, and you close your eyes when his large arms encircle your shoulders, his warmth on the top of your head, his big hands on your back. You briefly think back to the hospital. There was no place on this planet where you felt safer than in Jack’s arms. You can’t help it, your entire body relaxes, the tension seeping out of your body. It would be okay if you just stayed here for a moment, right? Just a moment of rest.

* * *

 

Like all dreams, the one you have does not feel like one. You dream of darkness and laughing red eyes, metallic sparks and neon blue paint. You’re struck with a terrifying sense of being trapped, and when your head sluggishly moves, your limbs are tangled in a sticky, white web. A black and red spider leans over you, crushing your lungs with its sheer weight. Its eyes reflect nothing, and it laughs with a woman’s voice. Its limbs feel disgusting against your skin as it walks away, delicately balancing on the thin strands of its web. Instead, it picks up a limp body, and your voice is lost, your body holding no strength as you watch the spider stab its pincers through 76’s chest. Your face is hot and sticky, tears run down your face as your chest is wracked with sobs and it becomes impossible to breathe. Your arms struggle against their constraints but it gets tighter. The air is filled with the crunch of his bones and your cries.

“Shhh,” it says, tearing into his heart, “Shhh, hey…”

* * *

 

“Hey!”

When you wake up it’s with a sob choked in your throat, and warm hands on your face. Your face is soaked in tears, your lungs heaving with unstoppable cries while your mind is a mess, you can’t focus on anything but the hollow in your heart. It’s dark and hot in the room, your skin sticky with sweat and someone’s brushing hair from your face.

“Hey, shhh, it’s just a nightmare,” 76’s voice is soft and he wipes away the tears from your cheeks. You blink rapidly and a breath hitches in your throat as you try to return your breathing to normal.

“Ja – ck?” You hiccup, your hands grasping for his, gripping tight around his arms as you pull yourself up. The dream glows fresh in your mind, it feels more like reality than the sheets against your skin, the creaking of the bed, the heat of 76 beside you. Lamplight through the gaps of the curtains is the only source of light in the room, but it’s enough to see 76 sitting right beside you, real and alive.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he murmurs as he keeps wiping away the tears that won’t stop, and you throw your arms around his shoulders, holding tight, making sure of _him_.

“Please don’t leave,” Your words are desperate, your voice trembling, “Don’t leave me.”

He strokes your hair, pushes you a back a little to look at you, in the weak light you can see concern clouding his features.

“I won’t.” He cups your cheek with his large hand, his thumb brushing along your skin.

“Promise me.” You press your hand to his, he feels so warm and real and all you needed was to know he was here, to ground your fluttering fears with irrational and unreasonable demands, but he pulls you to him, kisses your forehead.

“Promise.” He looks at you, your shaking shoulders, and presses another kiss to your eyelid. Your hand grips his shoulder, your torso pushed against his, his warmth the most reassuring thing to you. His blue eyes trace over you, gentle, and they hold the world, your everything. Your hiccups rhythmically break the silence, while your heart finally slows and you have time to gather all your broken thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper, so strangely quiet in comparison with the roaring emotions in your chest. His hand rubs your back, the other tilts your downcast face upwards, another kiss flutters against your cheek. Every brush puts you a bit more at ease, makes you feel a little calmer.

“Why are you sorry?” His low voice is soothing, the touch of his skin against yours stopping the dark shadows from crawling back into your stomach.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” You shake softly, your voice soft and uncertain, “I’m sorry I need you so much.”

76’s brows furrow and the hand at your back tightens, you can’t read the look on his face as he opens his mouth, can’t find what to say, and closes it. He closes his eyes for just a second, and both his hands gently cup your face like he’s handling something delicate, and he kisses you softly. All your fears and uncertainty stop screaming. Everything dissipates, smoke on water, when his lips rest gently against yours. It hurts you when he draws back, but he’s not gone for long, your eyes flutter shut as he brushes hair from your face and runs his hand to your neck, pulling you in for another kiss. He had always known exactly what to do to save you.

Your body glows with warmth against him, and his lips make lights burst behind your eyelids, fire brushing against your skin. It’s nothing like the other night, where everything was fireworks and hunger. Your lips meet with a liquid gold, burning and intense, slow and deep. Your hands reach for him, and you lean closer, craving that closeness, slowly wrapping your arms around his neck. His breaths are soft against your cheek, you surprise yourself when you part your lips and thread your fingers through his hair. There’s a pause in his movements, and you think he’s going to do the same thing as that night, but he doesn’t, his hands run down your back, and gently grip your upper thigh, prompting your leg out from where they’re curled underneath you. His lips don’t leave yours, they’re hot and patient against your mouth, his teeth softly scrape your bottom lip and lightning runs along your spine.

Liquid heat pools in your stomach, and he more firmly tugs at you, he coaxes you up, pulls your leg over his. Heat rises in your cheeks as you rest your weight against him, he’s pulled you onto him so that you straddle his lap, and your heart thuds painfully fast in your chest. He rests his hand on your hip, warm and solid, keeping you grounded and close. His other hand strokes your cheek and there’s a soft pause where the both of you part to breathe, you feel his exhale as your foreheads touch.

You can’t hear anything but his breathing and your heart, but your skin is alight with the sensation of his body pressed against yours, and when you open your eyes, you find his tracing your features. His next, brief kiss feels raw. You have to tilt your head slightly downwards to meet him, this position you were in meant that you actually had a higher vantage point. His hand searches the curve of your waist, along your thighs, his thumb strokes the skin of your hip as he slides it beneath your t-shirt. He looks at you as his fingers leave burns on your skin, and you meet his intense gaze right back. It takes your breath away. He doesn’t say anything, but you know what his eyes are looking for, what he waits for. You take hold of his hand near your face, entwine your fingers with his, press your lips to his warm palm.

His grip tightens around your hand and he pulls you close, your body flush against his, and his breath brushes against your lips. The air around you shakes with anticipation and electricity, and your eyes fall close as he kisses the corner of your lips. His hand trails upwards, across the small of your back, up between your shoulder blades, and his arm pulls your shirt with it. He lightly bites your bottom lip, runs his tongue along when you inhale and part your lips. He isn’t impatient like last time, he overwhelms you slowly now, his tongue hot and intoxicating against yours. Your limbs grow weak, pleasure streaking through your lower stomach as you melt into his touch, his careful, hot kisses.

The air brushes your skin, and while a shyness tugs at your consciousness, a far greater desire for 76 overruns your thoughts, a cloud of yearning and lust and every single kind of emotion that you can’t even identify. You reach for the hem of your shirt, he lets go of your hand to help you pull it over your shoulders, where it falls to ground, immediately forgotten. His gaze slowly prickles along your skin, he traces his hands across your bare waist, and he sighs as he presses his lips to your neck. His hands are hot and dry, his fingers never quite still on your skin. Your voice catches when he runs his tongue over the place where he had left the bite mark.

His lips burn across your neck, his teeth softly grazing at your collarbone, his breaths brushing across your shoulders. His touch is so careful across the bandage at your neck, so soft you can barely feel it, and you’re convinced that he could turn any pain into pleasure. Your own breathing is fast and uneven, your heart in your throat as his fingers follow the lines of your bra. A soft, surprised ‘oh’ falls out of your mouth when you feel the clasps on your back fall apart – somehow he’s undone them with one hand.

76 chuckles at your reaction and you flush, your hands reactively holding your bra over your chest. He hums in disapproval and it resonates against your skin, his lips brush over your shoulders and his hands gently coax the straps off. You bite your lip and he pushes your hands away. Nervousness, shyness, embarrassment make you jittery and hot. It’s not like you were embarrassed about your body, but it was _him_ seeing it that made it so nerve wracking.

You’re thankful the room is dark, but it means you can feel everything he does, and his hand sparks down your arm, tosses away your bra. Your hands twine nervously in his hair, and a sigh escapes your lips when his large hand cups your breast, he breathes you in and you melt into his kiss, faster now, whimpering softly against his lips as he gently squeezes his hand, his fingers brushing over your nipple. You feel his lips rise slightly in a smile against your mouth, and his fingers become more insistent against your skin.  Numb heat shoots through your body as he rolls your hardened nipple in his fingers, and you’re panting, finding purchase against his chest, as it rises and falls fast.

Without warning, he gently pinches you, and your hands tighten as a groan trickles from your lips. He inhales sharply and your eyelids flutter as you look for him, and you’re brought back to earth abruptly as you catch yourself with your hands over his bandage.

“J-Jack,” Your words come out unsteady and breathless, “Shouldn’t…you’re injured…”

They sound unconvincing, even to you, because your rational side knows that you shouldn’t go any further, it might aggravate his condition, but your heart is so much louder. You’re very distracted by the fact his hand still stays hot on your chest, and his other hand slides down, grips your ass and yanks you close.

“We’re not stopping,” he murmurs, there’s a purr in it, borderline growl, and it’s a command.

“But –”

He bites your neck and you shiver, your self-control crumbles down, blown over by a whisper of a wind.

“Got anything else to say?” His hot breath ghosts over your skin, and you almost want to talk, just so he’ll do it again. You bite your lip, and you push him back lightly, your cheeks burning. He narrows his eyes at you, but you lean forward, brush your lips briefly against his as you run your hands carefully over his bandages.

“Fine, we won’t stop.” You see his eyes run over your torso – he licks his lips and you swallow. You trail your hand down, let it rest at his lower abdomen, against his muscles, the soft grey hair at his navel. You think you might be imagining it, but he seems to be breathing harder. “But you let me take care of you, okay?”

You keep your eyes on him as you slowly lower your hand, and he bites his lip, his dark eyes flickering between you and your hand. Your heart races in your chest as you flick open the buttons on his pants, and you can’t believe how satisfying it is to hear him suck in a deep breath as you run your palm over his groin, through the material. He’s half hard against your hand, and he takes his hands away from you to stop your wrist.

“You…” He clears his throat. “You don’t have to.”

It’s your turn to smile, and you lean close to him, letting your teeth gently graze his ear. His grip loosens, and you pull down his briefs.

“I want to,” You whisper, and his chest rumbles with something uncontrolled. His cock burns against your palm, it grows hard in your hand as you stroke along its length, and his soft groans make lust boil through your blood. You shift your position and push apart his legs, partly so you can slide down, partly so you can squeeze your legs together, trying to slow the heat at your stomach. You swallow, licking your lips as you lower your body, his eyes following you with an intensity that makes you flush even harder than you already were. You hold his thick shaft, breathing shallow with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation and arousal, and your eyes flicker up as you tentatively run your tongue along the underside of his erection. He swears under his breath, and he threads a hand into your hair, and you can see his skin slowly begin to shine with sweat.

Encouraged, you keep your eyes on him as you trail kisses up his shaft, a little messy, a little wet, and take the tip into your mouth. His hand tightens in your hair and you feel it in your bones when he groans, low and grumbly in his chest, his eyes unfocused, his uneven breathing loud and unrestrained. Now you wished it wasn’t so dark, you wished that lamplight shone just a little brighter through that small gap in the curtains, so that you can see the shadows it’d cast against his muscles, the glint of his heated gaze.

You’re not used to his size, or doing this at all, but you try your best to elicit more sounds from him, taking him as far as you can into your mouth, keeping your teeth away from the hot flesh. You rest your hand against his leg, keeping him still so you have better purchase. You let your tongue run over the slit, it’s hot and a little salty and shivers run through you at his growl, his hand clenching in your hair. You shift again, you’re wet between the legs and your body is burning up with desire, every time he shudders, every time he sucks in a breath like he can’t breathe right, the way his head tilts back…

You moan softly, it’s muffled and 76 jerks against you, his abdomen muscles tensing.  Your head is yanked up suddenly, your lips still wet as you let out a gasp of surprise and he falls from your mouth. You look at him with concern, maybe you had grazed him accidentally, but 76, he’s…you’ve never seen his face this flushed, his eyes this wild, his lips so red and wet. It’s the closest to being flustered you think you’ll ever see him.

“…I…” He starts, his voice hoarse and out of breath. “…Sorry, I just…”

His hand loosens in your hair and he takes your chin, pulls you up against him again and hungrily takes your lips, his other hand sliding down your bare back. He tugs down the waistband, his pulls back and his thumb runs over your bottom lip.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, you can feel his hand sliding down your shorts, “Too beautiful, so let me take a break.”

You swallow hard as he tugs your shorts and your underwear down, over your ass, and you flush as you sit back and help him slide them down your legs. It’s discarded without care, just like every other piece of clothing. You instinctively cover yourself with your hand, but he grabs it, pulls you back toward him so you’re on your knees between his legs. You can see his erection, flushing as you see how it’s still wet, but he gently pushes your knees apart with a hand. He kisses your shoulder, cups your breast and trails his lips down, and you gasp as his tongue rolls over your nipple. His palm glides down your stomach, his fingers stroke the skin of your hip, and your hands wrap in his hair, gripping the soft strands tight as he lets go of your breast and squeezes your ass instead. His fingers trace your inner thigh, and your teeth are wearing holes in your bottom lip.

“Jack…!” You whimper, and he reads your desperation, finally gives you what you want and slides a finger inside you. You shudder as he’s met with no resistance, the sensation of him slowly pressing his finger deep in you to the knuckle making your body feel weak, your head feel fuzzy. He chuckles breathlessly, you feel him raise his head, kiss your chin.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers against your skin, and you huff, trying your hardest not to let the fluster get to you.

“Can you blame me?” You reply, out of breath, hand against his neck as you softly nip at his lip. “Look at who’s touching me.”

If he was teasing you, he should know that two can play at that game. He pauses, and you choke back a whimper as he presses another finger into you, pleasure spiking through your lower body. He takes it agonisingly slow, running his fingers along your inner walls, twisting, eyes trained on your face. You’re a little embarrassed, but every thought flies out of your mind when he crooks his fingers, a gasp falling from your lips as lightning jolts through your entire body. Your body feels like melting butter, you’d sink into 76 if his hand didn’t hold you tight.

“Like it here?” His low voice is pleased, he knows it’s good but he wants you to say it, but you’re not sure if you’re capable of forming words so you just nod shakily, fingers digging into his broad shoulders.

“…That’s…that’s enough,” You bite back a moan as he puts more pressure in his touch, soft tremors running along your body.

“Mmm.” He nuzzles your neck, showing no intention of stopping. You huff, and your hand leaves his shoulder to run along his stomach, you drop it to his navel, then gently grasp his erection. It’s a small victory when he grumbles, deep in his throat.

“Jack,” You sigh, stroking him slowly and he groans, raw and heated, “Please?”

He hums, and then takes his fingers out from you. You’re left with a sense of emptiness but he brings them to his mouth and you flush so hard you think you’re going to pass out when he licks them.

“Always wondered what you would taste like,” he breathes, gripping your hips and pulling you over him. Your tongue has tied itself into knots, you want him so bad you think you’re going to go crazy. You hold his shoulder and bite your lip, he watches you as you lower yourself onto his cock. He’s hot, and you try to take your time, shuddering as you feel his head slipping into your wet entrance, his thick shaft filling you up tight. His fingers sink into your hips as you sit flush against him, taking time to adjust, your eyes closed as your head floats with the breathtaking sensation of him inside you. You breathe in deeply and roll your hips and he makes a sound that sears your insides.

Your eyes flutter open to see him. He breathes hard, and you use your knees to move, feeling the friction of him inside you tear moans from your throat. His name falls from your lips again and again, and he grips you so hard you know he’s going to leave bruises. He presses his forehead into your neck, his hot, rough breaths loud against your skin. Your fingers clutch his hair, your mind so hazy you don’t know or care what you sound like, you don’t mind if you end up insane from the pleasure.  You slow your movements as the heat builds too much, too close.

“W-Wait,” You gasp as he pushes his hips upwards, he reaches in so deep, and he runs his hand along your waist.

“…Did it hurt?” he asks, his voice thick with desire, slurred, like he was drunk.

“No – No, I just –” You glance away, biting your lip, trying to catch your breath. “I’m…it’s…”

He tilts his head, moves his hips again and you shake. You lose your sense of direction as his hands tighten and all of a sudden he’s flipped you into the mattress and a small wave of panic rises over you as you carefully touch his chest.

“Jack – stop, you’re still –” You’re cut off as he thrusts into you _hard_ and you see stars, he takes your hand from where it clutches the sheets, grips it in his and kisses you, his tongue rough and tender. He takes the pace and pushes into you, again and again, slow and deep and he runs his hand along your thigh, pulls it up against him. You don’t try to talk again, you’re lost in his hands as the heat builds in your abdomen. It grows more overwhelming with each thrust, you can feel him so distinctly inside you, thick and hot and tight. Through the haze of burning limbs and sweat, you find his lips on yours, your world consists of Jack and only Jack. You shake your head desperately, your moans caught against his lips as the scorching pleasure crests over you.

“Jack…!” You choke out his name, “I’m –”

You don’t get the words out, he pushes in deep and bites your ear gently.

“Come for me,” he growls it softly and you’re nothing, you crumble to pieces in his hands, pleasure flooding through your entire body as your vision turns white and your back arches into him, your fingers clutching for him to keep you tethered to the ground. All you can hear are his groans, and you feel him press his hips into yours as heat pools in your insides. He says nothing but your name.

When the waves subside enough for you to think again, you run your hand over his back, feeling his muscles tense and ripple as he comes down from his own high, his hand holding yours tight, his chest heaving against yours. He slowly presses his lips to your neck as your breathing returns to normal, your eyes closed blissfully as a wave of sleepiness runs over you. He kisses you and gradually pulls out, you softly moan at the sensation of his heat leaving you. He reluctantly rolls to the side, pulls you close to him as soon as he’s able to keep you tucked near him. You know you should probably shower and clean up, but you’re also perfectly content to lie here in the glow of Jack’s affections for just a while longer.

“…You’re unbelievable,” You sigh, tracing the lines of his bandage, glad to see he wasn’t bleeding or something from his reckless behaviour.  

“If you could see what I see,” Jack buries his nose into your hair, “You’d do the same.”

You can’t help but smile, your heart glowing, and you close your eyes.

* * *

 

“Fifty hours of searching, ten different cover stories and 3 bribes to find you and keep this story out of the media. You two really are something.” Winston pushes his glasses up, but you know he’s not really mad.

“Well, don’t say we don’t know how to put on a show.” You grin tiredly, and 76 looks at you disapprovingly from where he sits in the hospital bed.

The recovery team had tracked down the pair of you not soon after the incident, much to your relief, and now that you were back at the watchpoint, everything that had happened seemed so far away. 76 was able to get the proper medical attention he needed, and was already getting better fast. Staying in the ward was purely at Angela’s request, just in case anything went wrong with the recovery process.

“Well, the important thing is that you’re both safe.” Angela checks the vitals at the end of 76’s bed and types some information in. “We’ll be back later for your final check-up, so just rest up. You too, okay?”

She taps you on the nose and you nod, and she smiles as she leaves with Winston. A comfortable silence falls over the two of you, interrupted by only the rhythmic beeping of the hospital machinery. It feels natural, the way you move out of your seat and find a space next to him. He rests an arm around your shoulder and sighs softly.

Even though the future was so uncertain, and you didn’t know what was going to happen, sitting here, in this moment, you were sure that everything was going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it comes to an end! Thanks so much for reading, you guys have been the best!  
> If you've got any quirky/fluffy/anything really prompts and stuff, feel free to send them to my tumblr (http://smilingchipmunk.tumblr.com/), if I have time I'm feeling like writing real quick one shots (no promises im a piece of shit) and I'm always open to chat and hang you kno the drill <3 Catch you next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading, or if you leave a comment or kudos, I really appreciate it and would love to get suggestions or ideas! I was thinking of writing a recovery party where you get to talk and interact with more of the agents, show off your new leg and have some fluffy moments with 76 but I'm not even sure if I'm writing a next chapter <3 Sorry for chopping your leg off, btw.   
> The McHanzo is more implied and background, but writing them is fun as hell.   
> Come visit me and my semi-OW blog if you'd like to talk story and characters and general squealing about Overwatch: http://smilingchipmunk.tumblr.com/   
> Set me on fire please


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